Neopian Beauty
by The Water Daemon
Summary: Do you believe in something beautiful? COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

I am the Brain Tree, and this is my life.

This is my nihilistic, gloomy life.

Something that develops intelligence, a living, carbon organism, is usually able to explore their world. This allows them to satisfy their craving for furthering their insight, and deepen their perception. Their intelligence grows with each new step they take through life, compiling together book smarts, experience and interaction with the outside world.

This is a luxury I am not afforded.

Unlike their limber legs, what links me to the ground chains me there. My roots grow down deep to find the prime nourishment in the emaciated soils of the Haunted Woods, that infertile sand having suffocated many of my brothers. I can only wave about my arms to catch a wayward Pteri from the sky and demand information from him, or rely on daring and greedy Questers to shuttle information from that retch the Esaphogor to me. My lust for knowledge can only be fulfilled through these meager means, and by observing what appears immediately before me.

Some knowledge, though, I would be content to be without. The knowledge of the thing that lurks behind me, for example, would make for a more peaceful existence. Perhaps then I would not feel obliged to grasp and save every adventurer stupid enough to wander into its lair, and reduce the scars striping the back of my trunk. But I know it is impossible. Even as a sapling, centuries in the past, I had been aware of what evil I was planted in front of—of what my boughs were planted to hide. Even if I had not been born with this awareness, I would have discovered it anyway; the scant few I have failed to save from its hungry grasps send shrieks that rattle me as if I were hollow, terrifying and sympathetic.

I would not mind, either, if I had been given such a brain and planted somewhere other than the Haunted Woods. Another guardian to conceal the beast could have suffered my burden, and my seed could have been planted in Meridell. Though I have never seen the place with my own two eyes, passing Draiks have woven wondrous tales of Meridell and Brightvale's beauty, budding with fertility and well-being. Though I may have been shunned, and perhaps chopped down, had I shown my swollen cranium among the described greenery, I would trade a moment in that ripe, delicious sun for a lifetime in this eternal gloom.

The only shrubbery that twists around my trunk are weeds and herbs fit only for Edna's foul potions. While she visits me regularly, and supplies me with Neopian news and occasionally a Neopian Times propped up on a nearby stump (the corpse of a former comrade), her knowledge is limited to spells and other such witchery. I desire a knowledge that spans subjects only dreamed of by scholars. I desire a Neopedia inside my head, delivering whatever knowledge a passerby requests at the drop of a hat.

But such a gesture would be uncommonly kind for me, and I have a cranky reputation to uphold. I am not internally as sour as I appear on my exterior, though a bitterness does linger beneath my bark. When the season is right, Edna comes around to collect the acidic sap that seeps from my pores, claiming it good for more complex and potent potions. At least I can be of use there, even if it is only my natural, physical status that allows this. What fun is there in displaying a talent you were born with, and have not earned?

My story begins like almost any other of my stories—it being nighttime, and myself unable to sleep. Some brave Korbats dangled from my branches, but I did not bother their inverted dreams. I was too busy studying the phase of the moon and, when that was completed, charting the shift of the stars with one of my branches into the ground. The beast rumbled a growl behind me, hungry for the Korbats that dripped from my limbs. I ignored its sinister sounds, enveloped in my studies.

I was tracing the last star into the thick mud, the heavens forced into the sin of the ground, when I noticed something at where my roots intercepted with the ground. Normally, I disregarded the gnarl of barbed weeds at my trunk, but among these typical horrors was something new. I could barely decipher it at first, but as I brushed away the vicious shrubbery that often snapped back at my bough, I discovered what had caught my eye.

It was an out-of-place little plant, tenaciously growing amidst plants hostile to its existence. It had a strong, bright green stem, and at the top, a flower as red as blood bloomed gorgeously. Illuminated by the moonlight, its exotic splendor was only amplified, making it seem preciously lined with platinum.

My first instinct was to pick it—but then I checked myself, and thought better. If I picked the beauty, it would die slowly in my grasps, and not have a chance of proliferating and continuing to shed its miniscule glory on my dismal kingdom. Remaining in the ground, it could delight me in the future, so long as I kept it safe from its surrounding adversaries. It was delicate and rare right then, a peaceful country surrounded by hostile enemies.

I cleared way for it quickly, not caring for the weeds I smashed in the process. Soon, only that beauty—that Neopian beauty—stood alone in that patch before me, shining like a ruby amongst the muck.

I am Max the Skeith, and this is my life.

This is my guarded, concealed life, hidden beneath my black suit and briefcase.

You probably know me. You've probably seen me as you've come in to start an account, or collect your interest from the National Neopian. It's a nice banking firm, and I like to believe we do a great service for our clients—we keep their money safe from the grasps of the Tax Beast, or any other anonymous offender in Neopia. I always love to see the face of the fresh Neopians as they come in to make their first bank account, shy and timid with the few Neopoints crinkled in their hand. I even don't mind enormously when customers continuously withdraw from their account, slowly leeching away their funds and blowing them on Paint Brushes and pricey Petpetpets.

That doesn't mean I love my job.

I always had a knack for math, even as a young Neopian, wide-eyed, naïve, and wishing for the next Space Faerie action figure. Little did I know this blessing, in the scheme of things, could be turned into, by public education, a curse.

"Max!" my teachers cried, their faces ruddy with joy and hands all accepting. "We can't believe how well you did on the last calculus test. You're a natural, you know." I would nod and agree, a blush turning my green skin slightly purple. They would pat me on the back heavily, nodding all the time. "We'll see great things out of you in the future, Max. It's a rare thing to be so talented with numbers. Great things, you mark my words."

I did mark their words—every one of them in a private diary used to pump my self-esteem and give me the shred of self-worth my owner never provided to me. But as I advanced in years, I realized a talent in math is just as superfluous as one in English—it only hid under the guise of practicality. My limited options were revealed to me on disappointing job search sites: accountant, tax collector, math teacher and freelance mathematician.

Tax collector involved selling out to the Man.

Math teacher involved guiding snot-nosed kids.

Freelance mathematician involved periods of going without food for lack of money. My last option, by the deduction property, lay in accountant. And you can see me working that job now, dressed head to toe in the priciest suit I can afford to attract new customers. But luxurious clothes doesn't always do the trick. You've got to compete for clients, and that involves having the quickest wit and smashing good looks. The wit you can work on—the smashing good looks can only be found two ways: naturally, or through purchasing power.

I had to rely on the latter.

I passed by Kauvara's Magic Shop religiously. Though my savings and my paycheck couldn't quite pay for it yet, I often caught glimpses of my ultimate goal in the window, only to be plucked from the shelf by some rich owner with a Cybunny at their side. I would scowl, and often pretend that my eyes had only happened to fall upon the shop for casual window shopping purposes, but it was hard to hide my disappointment, even if I knew I couldn't yet afford that precious bottle. Quickly, I'd continue along the road, thumping my briefcase, depressed, against my thigh.

Worse were the days that Kauvara noticed me practically salivating at the window before the delicate glass vial was purchased by someone less deserving. She'd come up to the window with a quizzical look on her face, adjusting her magician's cap and tapping back on the window at me. She's smile, and wave her hoof.

"Hey, Max. How's my money faring at the National Neopian?"

Internally, I'd curse her, but as someone who worked in a job that was practically public relations, I had acquired a decent poker face. I smiled broadly.

"It's fabulous, Ms. Kauvara. You're increasing your profits as we speak. Just don't forget to collect your interest everyday."

"I won't!" she would call back, and would seem satisfied with this exchange in dialogue. Irritated, I'd walk off nonchalantly, and then once out of sight in my home, string together a line of curses so foul even Frank Sloth himself would blush. More aggravatingly, Kauvara never _did_ forget to collect her interest, so I was daily forced to remember the fact that I could not get my paws on the object of my desire.

Sometimes, I'd try to convince myself to ask Kauvara to put one of those potions on hold, or perhaps to give me a discount—especially since I had weaseled the system to give her a better account service than her balance allowed by policy. Yet every time I thought I had wracked up the courage to make the casual request, as soon as I saw her starry hide the bravery deflated from me. We'd end up exchanging the normal politely detached repartee, and when she retreated I'd watch her until she disappeared, infuriated at my cowardice and her ridiculous prices.

When I thought about it at another dinner alone (my owner away as always with her favorite, Uilikee the Tyrannian Kougra, spending the money _I_ earned for a night on the town), fuming over how Patrick the Cloud Uni had made more business today, or how Jenny the Maraquan Acara managed, even from the kiddie pool her body forced her to stay in, to charm a rich client into starting an Ultimate Riches account, I only became more irritated at myself for not having the mettle to reach for what I wanted. Surely I could take a loan from the company—a transaction only allowed for employees—and buy the item on credit, but how would I explain my sudden need for a loan of 100,000NP and beyond? My vain purposes would surely be shot down, and not only would I suffer the embarrassment of that, my employer would also secretly snicker behind my back at that 'ugly, desperate Skeith.'

See, Neopian officials want you to believe that you're perfect as you are, and that you shouldn't seek to change yourself. Anyone who's caught in such a compromising situation is bound to be stigmatized for being such a desperate idealist, and not being able to be content with how they were created. But the truth is, this happens almost constantly behind closed doors. So long as you're not caught buying the potion, or drinking it, you're freed from the mark of wanting a change. Instead, you've just "improved" yourself—never mind how it happened or how much you spent.

If the next day at work you come in a Robot Pet, your business is destined to skyrocket, and no one will say a word.

So up to this day I accumulate cash quietly in a private account under an alias, waiting for the day to buy that elusive, career-changing potion in the window:

A Faerie Ixi Morphing Potion.

I am Princess Fernypoo, and this is my life.

My anxious, uncertain life on a pedestal.

Oh, I do love luxuries—I do love sitting amongst velvet pillows and going to stores where the clerks, upon my arrival, bring out the finest cashmere clothing an Acara could ask for. I love elaborate restaurants, like the kelp, with marble fountains and the wait staff in tuxedos that one can only gain access to through celebrity reservation. I love the pretentious wine lists and the connoisseurs who are only nice if you stuff Neopoints in their pockets. I love the small portions of exquisite and dangerous sea food served almost as much as I love being escorted there in a carriage pulled by Maraquan Lupes and made of the finest Maracite for defense. I love coming home to a castle and an owner who feeds me premium Neopain Food so that I might become part of the Gourmet Food Club on all of the delicacies she stuffs me with. I love knowing my superiority as I stroke my Moltenore while watching it play with its Mootix, a goofy smile on its face.

There is only one thing I loathe about the charmed life I lead as a Royal Acara, one of the finest and rarest breed of Neopet. It is the knowledge that this charm could vanish in the simple zap of electricity.

Here is my confession: I am a lab pet.

Avid Cheat! players may be surprised. Perhaps I seem one of those privileged Neopets who, while not only possessing a wealth of Neopoints and beauty, also does not answer to the wild whims of an owner. This is untrue. I used to live independently, when I had still been the beloved daughter of King Ferny who taught me to play Cheat!. Once I went off to make it on my own, however, I was forced to resort, for my own safety, to being looked after by an owner, putting myself up for adoption for a ridiculous sum until a rich, enterprising owner came along.

Now, I am just as much a captive of an owner—who also oversees the growth and well-being of my sister, Validated, or Vali, the Baby Grarrl—as any other common Neopet, my life only made lush by her discretion. Daily, I must cater to her favor, whatever it may be—whether be it bringing in the Neopoints through my endless font of luck, or giving her affluence by showing off my costly and unusual color.

Luckily for my owner, the price on my looks came cheap—namely, free. After months of saving for archaic pieces of what looked like a washed out, soaking map, my owner set off on a quest for the target that was mapped out on the shoddily reassembled map. Once she had found the destination, she urged me to follow her, at that time still just a Blue Acara. "Come, Fernypoo," she urged, taking me by the wrist. "I've found something marvelous."

That 'something' involved a yellow, hare-brained Scorchio with a crazed smile and coke-bottle glasses. He urged me to follow him to the back room without my owner, and I complied, shooting a nervous look to my owner. She gave me an encouraging look and shooed me towards the Scorchio with a smile. Cautiously, I turned myself back to the Scorchio and allowed myself to be led into a room filled with a variety of vials of chemicals, some bubbling and spitting poisons into the air. I shivered, especially disturbed as the heavy cast-iron door behind us closed.

The Scorchio, suddenly, grasped me and strapped me to a cast-iron bed. I struggled against the bonds, but the Scorchio assured me, with a guttural, insanity-stricken laugh, that there was no need to be frightened. Once he had fixed the barrel of an ominous machine towards my body, he climbed back to where I was, and stroked the fur beneath my chin with a cracked fascination.

"You're a gorgeous little specimen," he cackled, twirling my fur painfully around his claw. "Let's hope that your owner brings you back in the future, hmmm?"

I was outraged. How dare an off-his-rocket scientist treat me, a princess, with so little dignity? I was not a common Neopet to be trifled with, to be groped by his hands stained with potent solutions. I opened my mouth to protest, my indignation overruling my terror, but he was already back at the machine, fiddling around with the switches. He finally sat back in the chair stationed at the other end of the machine, and grinned down at me with glittering canines.

"Brace yourself, pretty one!"

With little extra warning, a bolt of electricity shot from the barrel of the machine, striking me dead-on. I screamed at the pain, at how it made my insides writhe, changing things haphazardly and without pattern. The pain diminished in seconds, but its blazing memory did not. As soon as I regained myself, my muscles still tingling from the blast, I shrieked up at the Scorchio, balling my fists.

"Who do you think you are?" I cried. "I am Princess Fernypoo! Who gave you the authority to do such things to me! Come over here right now, I'll show you what happens when you do such heinous things to someone of royal blood!"

"Do calm down, do calm down," encouraged the Scorchio, still giggling madly as he climbed off his post behind the machine. Instead of heading to release me, he headed back to the door, unlocking it with a swift motion. My owner immediately raced into the room, a look of honest concern on her face. She ran over to where I was locked, petting my head fiercely as if I were a common Petpet. I hated when she showed such condescending sentimentality, and strained against her palm.

"Fernypoo, are you okay?" she demanded, looking me straight in the eyes. I loathed her whenever she tried to act like my mother—as I had informed her before, I already had a mother who was of much higher status than her lowly self—I had a mother who was a queen. Also, she often omitted my full title—instead of calling me Princess Fernypoo, she reduced it to the humiliating status of only 'Fernypoo.'

"_Princess_ Fernypoo," I corrected. "And no, I'm NOT okay. This madman here—he zapped me with that horrible gun over there!" I indicated the barrel that still pointed at me with a jerk of my head.

My owner's head snapped towards the Scorchio, who had approached me from the other side and was beginning to unlock my bonds. He snickered underneath his breath, audible for only me, and then looked back to my owner. "No worries, no worries. Fernypoo here was just a little ruffled by the process."

"_Princess_ Fernypoo!"

"Right, Princess Fernypoo. Anyhow, she increased in strength by three points by my calculations." The Scorchio released me, and I darted from the bonds to behind my owner. If she was good for nothing else, she made an ample shield. "You should come back tomorrow. Who knows what will happen the _next_ time you come …"

While the statement sounded ominous to me, it must've rang quite differently in my owner's ears, as her eyes widened, intrigued. She would not say whether or not she planned to go to the laboratory again until she was dragging me out the door bright and early the next morning, goading me with promises of rich food and expensive beauty maintenance items.

With these bribes, I agreed to go—but later, after she had used these reasons to compel me to the lab, I realized something: what good would expensive beauty items do if I were transformed into something like a Green Quiggle? More importantly, what would become of me if I became a Green Quiggle, or something worse? Would I still receive special discounts at my favorite stores? Would toy store companies still lavish me with the newest plushies? Would the kelp still accept me for fifty percent off?

These worries began to dissolve the moment I was zapped into a Royal Acara, further emphasizing the validity of my demands for the finest objects. My owner was ecstatic, but I was smug—I knew I deserved this form all along, and it was only a matter of time before fate bestowed it upon me. My owner had adopted Vali by that time, and when I arrived home, Vali cooed and fawned over my newly acquired robes and crown, impressed by their authenticity despite my owner not having paid a cent to the Hidden Tower. With my new wardrobe and color, I found even more invitations stacked at my door for Cheat! competitions as well as parties and store visits, my fame seeming to spread across Neopia.

But this is just the beginning of my story. This story begins after I had been transformed, and, secretly, a regular visitor to the lab ray. This story was, surprisingly, not sparked by me—and as such, the reigns of control fell out of my grasp, and led me bumpily towards the end. The story _really_ begins one fateful morning when I checked in Vali's crib to find the diapered Grarrl vanished, and in her place a piece of paper with a clipped-out threat neatly ransom note inside.

I am Albert the Kacheek, and this is my life.

This is my sad, distorted, freshly hellbound life.

I won't mince words. You might know my story already, but if you don't, here's a brief recap: that jerk the Esaphogor grabbed me by the tail when I was trying to plant some pineapple plants in the Haunted Woods (it's worthwhile to note here that I used to be a fairly ambitious gardener, and had some floosy idealist dream of planting flowers everywhere in Neopia) because the brat was hungry, and turned my speckled hide to one that now quite grotesquely displays my brain. A mutant, really, in the Virtupet tradition.

I don't grow too many flowers anymore.

Mostly, I just scavenge for food for the Esophagor. That lousy excuse for a quest monster sends me packing day and night to find all sorts of strange, exotic food in the Graveyard. It's impossible, most of the time, 'cause he requests this gourmet stuff that's near impossible to find by the Shop Wizard, let alone in the swamps of the Haunted Woods. That jerk the Esophagor, he keeps saying if one day, I manage to supply him with all the food he requests in a twenty-four hour period, he'll lift this curse offa me and I'll be back to normal. Needless to say, that's motivation enough to get my rear scooting off to the nearest graveyard to wade through Ghostkerchiefs for a Sun-Dried Techo Claw.

But lately, I'm beginning to wonder if this isn't just a huge scam for the Esophagor to have a never-ending supply of food, served to him by his live-in slave: me, Albert the Kacheek.

A Neopet gets desperate sometimes, y'know. Most of the time, I can actually see the foods that the Esophagor requests—it's just what he's craving at the moment happens to be too darn _expensive_ for the few Neopoints he spits at me. It's just within my reach, and sometimes I even try petty thievery to nab it and get away, vowing internally I'll pay for it later. (This is mostly a form of self-deception.) But that Halloween Bruce vendor always catches my hand dipping into his supplies, even while he's distracted, and then chases me away while hitting me with his bat wings. Then once I get home, red spidery marks all over my face from where that Bruce gave me a beating, the Esophagor's only comment is he's hungry and he wants a Spooky Shake.

Ungrateful fatty.

So, basically, I've been concocting ways to make money for the past few months. I tried not to dip into a criminal mentality, but in the Haunted Woods, it's hard not to. The fact that it's only actual daytime for roughly two hours here makes for an external darkness that creeps to the interior faster than preventable. Before I came here, I would've never thought of stealing from that Bruce's stand—now, it was a commonplace occurrence.

I decided my best bet was to go for something non-violent. Bank robbing could become more of a hassle than a bargained for, armed or not. Besides, I wasn't very adept with weapons, nor did I know which ones would be right for the job. With all my luck, I would end up holding a bank clerk with a floozy _Chia Bubble Gun_ and be carted to jail faster than I could blink.

So I decided on kidnapping.

I knew I needed to nab a loved one of someone rich, though preferably not famous. If they were rich without fame, I could get all the ransom I needed without attracting a mountain of media attention. Figuring gamers would have the most amount of dough, I began to leaf through the public records of high score lists, seeing who had the most consistent wins without me simultaneously knowing their name.

It was on the Cheat! scores that I stumbled upon my victim. Princess Fernypoo, they said her name was—once an independent Neopet turned a slave to her owner. (Although I was slave to the Esophagor, I had always thanked a higher power that I never had to answer to some snotty-nosed human child who knew nothing about Neopia.) Turning immediately to the computer database, I searched her user lookup to find that she had one other sibling: a Baby Grarrl named Validated.

My heart leapt with crooked joy at this realization. Not only were Baby Neopets cherished by their owners, they were also ridiculously gullible and laughably trusting. I located them with the click of a mouse in the Maraquan complexes—some of the fanciest—and began to piece together how I'd break in and capture the little tyke. After a few moments of fretting over a plan, I threw caution to the wind and decided to wing it. I knew it was a fairly irresponsible decision, but you've got to understand—I'd been the Esophagor's personal food slave for more than three years now. _Anything_ was preferable than finding him another set of Peanut Butter Spiders—even jail.

I ended up entering the apartment in a rather unconventional way during nighttime. With binoculars, I at first watched as Princess Fernypoo and her owner, from a shroud of nearby seaweed, tucked in the little babe into a crib, so I knew where I could find the slobbery thing. I watched them sing it wordless songs in a sickening fashion, turn on a glowing mobile, and then turn off the light, retreating from the room. I waited for them to exit out of the door and hail a cab, then stashed my binoculars and got to work.

While I wasn't in league with the Brown Meerca Brothers as far as criminal activity went, I did know a thing or two from fraternizing with enough people at the Deserted Fairground. I knew that the best way to get into the building was to appear like someone who _should_ be in the building, rather than sneak in through a window like in a gaudy spy movie. I figured by best bet was the mailman ploy (as then I'd even have a large sack to carry my freshly-acquired hostage out in), so I tackled a Maraquan mailman on the next stop of his route, stole his clothes and identification and proceeded to the front desk.

The manager in the lobby gave me a queer look when he took my I.D., comparing me to the Maraquan Chomby in the picture. Shoving my mail cap harder over my head to conceal my brain, I smiled a shut-lipped smile.

"Lab ray," I explained with an apologetic smile, and the manager grunted in approval, giving me back the card. He proceeded to give me an all-access card, which I shoved into my pocket with a sense of accomplishment, moving to the elevators.

I skipped delivering the mail, immediately jumping to the tenth floor where my goal was. I passed the doorways quickly, ducking into side hallways I ever saw a resident coming through--I feared they might request their mail. After mentally counting the windows I would have to pass, I came to what I assumed was the right door and opened the lock by sliding the key card between the door and the wall. For such fancy-schmancy apartments, they sure didn't know how to robber proof their rooms.

I slipped in, checking around the hallway to see that I was undetected. I shut the door quickly behind me, and kept the lights off. I had to get rid of all the excess mail in my bag, so I dumped the majority of the letters into the sink, which was spotless and had its faucet handles gilded. I paused, wondering if it was worth the trouble to pry the handles from the sink, then got paranoid that I would be caught and raced to the back room where the cradle was.

Vali was sleeping soundly in her cradle, swaddled in silken blankets. I wondered what the point of this luxury was, as the Grarrl was already ruining them by drooling all over them, but the rich, as I understood, had strange ways that the poor couldn't understand. Even as it stood, Vali, who was a sixth of my age if that, had a room that was bigger than any house I had ever even considered. Everything was neatly arranged on shelves that stacked up to the wall, and murals of Unis dancing down rainbows circled the walls. The tyke had a collection of plushies that was stacked in a pyramid against the wall—her obsession seemed to be with Cybunnies, and she had a Cybunny plushie in every color imaginable.

If I could only have stolen that environment rather than its inhabitant, I would've been content for the remainder of my life. Vali, young as she was, had no conception or appreciation for what surrounded her—I, on the other hand, a Kacheek jaded by years in Neopia, could waltz through the splendor and wonder how such the ungrateful people were always granted the glory. In the moments before I picked up Vali and deposited her in my mailbag, I lived in the world I aspired to see one day, only with my own mark lingering like a phantom over each precious possession. I pretended, for a moment, that this reality was mine, and then as soon as I exited the room, swore it would be one day, Vali's sleeping body rustling softly in the mailbag.

I nodded to the desk clerk on the way out, and, throwing the unneeded uniform on top of the unconscious Chomby in the seaweed on the way out, headed back to the Haunted Woods for the Brain Tree.


	2. Chapter 2

Albert the Kacheek—I could never reach a verdict on this character. Since I often reluctantly collaborated with the Esophagor, repulsive and gluttonous as he was, my branches often brushed against the discontent Kacheek, delivering information with disdain between the Esophagor and me. In some ways I pitied the Kacheek—when he arrived at the Haunted Woods, he had been filled with noble, if naïve, intentions. The Esophagor, selfishly, had turned Albert's quest to beautify the world into one to merely get his life back to normal. I often vowed that if I ever came across a Spotted Paint Brush, I would immediately deliver it to Albert, post haste.

Such an opportunity had never come along, though, and as the Haunted Woods began to take its toll on the Kacheek's spirit, I began to pity him less and less. He grew unbearably cynical and biting, responding to everything with an unnecessary dash of sarcasm. Though I often did this myself, one never likes to see their tactics turned back on them. The more alike personalities are, I accepted, the more they grow to hate each other—and as Albert's temperament began to closely mirror mine, a distaste towards the Mutant overwhelmed me.

When he came strutting up with a bag filled with something that wriggled within, I could only assume the worst. I looked up from my etches in the mud, and quickly hid the flower at my trunk from his sight. His obsession for botanical delights might compel him to steal my Neopian beauty. I straightened myself out so I looked like a true tree, branches grasping longingly for the unattainable sky.

"Good evening, Albert. You're here rather late. Esohagor send you for a midnight snack?"

"Nope." He was wheezing slightly with the effort it took to haul the bag towards me. He finally plopped it in front of me, watching it will dull eyes as the bag writhed out of its own will.

"Good Lord, Albert, what have you got in there?" I inquired, shooting him a suspicious look.

"My one-way ticket to freedom, that's what," he replied, nodding succinctly. He leaned forward over the bag, reaching for the opening. Slowly, he loosened it, and waited until I was watching for theatrical emphasis. "May I introduce you to the one and only—"

Whatever was inside the bag neglected Albert the chance to finish his introduction speech. Bursting from the bag came a diluted red form, which quickly revealed itself to be a miniature version of a Grarrl—a Baby. It gave one look towards Albert and gave a squeal of fear, rushing over to my trunk and grasping it firmly with one arm, sticking its other thumb in its mouth.

"What … _is_ this, Albert?" I demanded, gazing with disgust down at the Baby. I had never been a fan of Neopets—even the Halloween variety, which were somewhat tolerable—and Baby Neopets, in my perception, were the height of repulsive cuteness.

"It's my hostage," he replied, walking up behind the Grarrl. He grasped her by the hips and began to attempt to pry her from her leech-like grip on my bark, but to no avail. "Her name's—ugh!—Validated, but you can—c'mon, come off you little tapeworm—call her Vali." He sat back for a moment, releasing the Grarrl who exacted her vice grip on my trunk. "Little help here?" he demanded, gesturing towards Vali.

"And why," I demanded, "do you have a hostage at all?"

"I need the ransom money."

"For what?" At the mention of ransom, I knelt one branch down, seeming to shelter Vali from Albert. With an eager willingness, she scampered onto my branch, cooing with apparent delight. I lifted her back up into the air, high above Albert's head, and Vali clapped her hands, giving approving gurgles.

"That's between me and the Esophagor," insisted Albert, and then gestured towards Vali above him. "Now give'er back. I know you hate kids just as much as I do, and I'm not gonna trust you to keep her in tact."

"Fine. I don't want her. She's your problem, after all. It was your brilliant idea to steal her."

"Not steal, just … _borrow_. Borrow without permission, and until the owner pays up."

"You're such a _noble_ creature, Albert," I said, voice dripping with sarcasm. Still, I let my bough swoop back to the ground, placing Vali alongside Albert. I practically had to shake her off of my branch, as she gripped to it like a shipwrecked man to his life preserver. Once on the ground, she looked up at me with saucer-plate eyes, begging me to allow her back in my branches. "Off with you two now," I said, shooing the Kacheek and his hostage with a wave of my branches, stirring up a breeze. "And don't bring that sniveling little child around here anymore, do you hear me?"

Albert did—but apparently, Vali didn't. As he turned to leave, one hand securely fastened around Vali's wrist, she turned with a suddenness, breaking out of his grasp. He gave a little yelp and spun around, only to find Vali once again pinned purposefully to my trunk, glaring back at him with green, spiteful eyes. I looked down at the Baby Grarrl with disapproving confusion, trying to brush her off—gently—with a branch. She squealed sadly when I attempted this, and it only encouraged her to grip me tighter. "Get off of me, you little runt," I growled, but she was, unlike so many other Neopets, barely shaken by the intimidation in my voice. She cooed ignorantly, and Albert looked me up and down, seeming to study Vali's tendencies. I could practically see the plan forming in his mind—the plan to relieve himself of yet another burden and place it upon my old and weathered limbs.

"Hey, Brain Tree," he said slowly, seeming to try and pull out just the right words to convince me. "That little Grarrl … she seems to've taken a shine to you, eh?"

"She is young and foolish. Perhaps she has not heard the true tales of what happen to those who cross the Brain Tree."

"See, exactly. Nobody messes with you, Brain Tree. But me? That's a different story. Neopets see me, and my looks just seem to scream 'mess with me!' at them. If I had to defend Vali, well, I'd be screwed. I've got no Battledome talent, and well, uh, I'm pretty easy to beat anyway, and my look seem to attract bullies, and …"

"You're plotting something, Albert," I said dryly, "and I will not go along with it. This Grarrl is your own baggage—literally—not mine. Now take you awkward planning elsewhere, I need some time to think."

"Well! Well!" Albert was trying to catch my attention, not bothering to reclaim Vali. He was determined to deposit Vali upon me, no matter what convoluted logic he had to summon. "Think about _this_, Brain Tree. I mean, since she's just a Baby, Vali may not have the most knowledge in the world, but maybe she could give you, uh, perspective, like how she sees the world and stuff. And, and! With her cute little looks and all, you could probably convince a wider range of, uh, scholars to try your Quests."

"Don't use your faulty logic on me, Albert," I snarled, becoming outright hostile. "You just want do dump your burden on me, so that you don't have to deal with taking care of what you started. Is that right?" I reached my branches high over my head, throwing them over Albert's head in a threatening canopy. Albert seemed to shrink beneath the sinister shape of my branches, baring his fangs instinctively in fright.

"W-w-well, that's sort of what it is … I mean, I can't really pull anything over _your _eyes …"

"You're right you can't. I am the Brain Tree, and while I cannot see in the future, I can see through you like glass." I glared at him ominously until I determined he had cowered enough, and then brought my boughs back to their normal position. Albert scampered off without any more of his persuasion, diving into and disappearing n a clump of tangled grass. I smirked as I watched him retreat, his bluish tail tucked hard between his legs. "Fool," I uttered, rolling my eyes.

My attention turned away from the vanished Kacheek and to my immediate peril—the Baby Grarrl, Vali, drooling as my roots. I wasn't sure why I had subconsciously complied to keep the little runt, for as soon as I laid my eyes upon her cinnabar head, bile seemed to rise in the back of my mouth. I didn't know what to do with the little pest, but I presumed it would be counterproductive to destroy her, though it would show Albert a thing or two about abandoning his commitments. I contemplated what I could do with the brat, and perhaps what use she could be to me.

But my thoughts were interrupted—a rare thing—by Vali herself, scrambling along my roots. She had released my trunk and wandered to where I protected the hardy flower, lifting up my leaves to peer at its petals. I was startled at first, ready to knock her away from it to preserve and protect its purity, but as I looked closer, I noticed she had no apparent intention to torment my treasure. Rather, she admired it as I had on first discovering it, her eyes wide and adoring. She reached forward cautiously, and I tensed, waiting to knock her back, but she did not, as I suspected, rip it from the ground. Instead, she stroked its petals delicately, so soft and silken to the touch, fragrant even amongst the Forest's stench.

"Boo-tee-full," she cooed, cupping the flower delicately in her palms. She placed her nose gingerly inside its tight petals, and inhaled its scent.

"Be careful," I murmured to her, enchanted by her reaction to its splendor, "beauty like that's a fragile thing."

Her blank look served as a poker face that shut me out from the primitive workings of her mind. Yet I knew some higher mind already worked deep inside of her. Though she would one day swell and grow to a toothy, prehistoric beast, for now she was full of innocence and a plane mirror for the Neopian beauty, radiating back at it with equal, if borrowed, light.

"I want that money," I said flatly, "and I want it now."

If I was in a lighter mood, I would've danced around the subject gracefully. With the dire situation, however, I was willing to be blunt and crass.

The green Skeith—my bank account manager, Max—cleared his throat audibly and adjusted the tie around his fat neck. He was sweating visibly, and emitting a stink that filled my eyes with tears. It was a hot day, yes, and the air conditioning was lagging behind on its duties, but I found it impossible for a Neopet to sweat so much without stopping. The white of his shirt under his suit was darkened by that perspiration, clinging to his chest. I had never enjoyed visiting him, but my owner had started our bank account with the meaty nitwit, and we were obligated by contract to continue with him.

"I don't mean to irk you, Ms. Fernypoo—"

"_Princess_ Fernypoo," I reminded, just barely able to keep my voice below a shriek.

"Yes, my apologies, _Princess_ Fernypoo. In any case, ma'am, I've been firmly instructed by my employer not to release any money to your possession."

I gritted my teeth against aggravation. "This is about the press releases, isn't it?" I said, my jaw bulging at the sides.

"Well, yes," he admitted hoarsely. "The police are meant to deal with the manner, and we can't let you withdraw any sums exceeding one thousand Neopoints. Anything else, we're afraid, could be used towards ransom money."

"But this _isn't_," I lied insistently. "This is only for some … stress shopping. To try and shop off … this situation."

Max was already shaking his head before I finished my sentence lamely. "I'm afraid my hands are tied, Princess Fernypoo. If you'd like, you can talk to my manager."

I nodded curtly, and Max retreated behind the counter and into a room, closing the door behind him. The room served as an effective veil besides the translucent window marked with his manager's name. The dull rumblings of conversation came from behind it. After a moment more of impatient toe-tapping, Max emerged from the room with a respectable looking Desert Shoyru, cool and collected despite the heat.

"Good afternoon, Princess Fernypoo. It's a pleasure to see you at the National Neopian today. Max here says you're requesting to withdraw a sum of fifty thousand Neopoints?" His hide was golden and his face attractive, even without his weighty headdress. Just gazing at him as opposed to Max relieved my nerves.

"Yes," I said with a sigh and a smile, "that's what I asked for. Just a little money to get me by for the week. My owner only has so much money outside of our shop till and pocket, you understand." Another lie. We had an ornate and complicated safe in the closet, for urgent occasions.

"I understand, indeed, Princess Fernypoo. Unfortunately, our policy is to never give out money if a ransom is involved, and the police are already on the case. I hope this doesn't conflict with your lifestyle," he purred. He was radiant, like gold, forged from the soft metal itself. With those words alone, he had convinced me it was for my greater good I was disallowed access to my money. I nodded hungrily.

"No, no. I understand. I was just making sure Max here wasn't trying to deceive me." I shot a suspicious look in his direction and his face twitched with humiliation. The Shoyru laughed heartily and nodded, patting his hand on the counter.

"No worries, Princess. We only employ the finest clerks here at the National Neopian. Your money is in good hands. Good day, miss."

The Shoyru returned to his office, seeming to leave a trail of brilliant things behind him. I watched his silhouette through the clouded window for a moment before Max intercepted on that sight, placing his bulk in my line of vision.

"So sorry to inconvenience you, Princess, but orders are orders," he said sheepishly with a shrug. My tone immediately turned sour.

"Yes, yes, I understand. I need to get to lunch now," I replied acidly. Max winced slightly at my sharp tone, but I didn't care for his opinion, and didn't give him a farewell. I was leaving, bringing only the memory of that glorious Shoyru with me.

I turned halfway to begin to retreat out the door when an idea struck me—an idea executed by many princesses and fair maidens in the past. A smile came to my lips, and I turned back suddenly. I approached the counter where Max sat, bewildered, this time with a different tune shaking in my hips. Rather than open hostility, I tried the roundabout path of charm.

"Actually, Mr. Max, I _am_ going to lunch … but I have nobody to accompany me." I added in the 'mister' for effort. 'Mister' always seemed to make men fall to their knees so much easier.

Max was a bit harder to manipulate, however, which was understandable. It had been foolish of me to outright barrage him—with Neopets in places one needed to get to, the proper tactic was always flattery and gobs of charm. I had these in spades, when needed, and now I tried to deal myself a royal flush.

"Hold on. Weren't you just pissed at me a second earlier?"

"A man of a mathematical mind has far too much logic for the emotions of a woman," I smirked, but added an element of seduction to the mockery. He rose slightly in his seat, visibly intrigued.

"W-well, I do get out of work in a few minutes," he admitted, clearing his throat. Something had to be done about that. A man who cleared his throat every few seconds displayed insecurity on his sleeve.

"Perfect. I'm not starving, anyhow. I'll wait for you out in the front," I promised, and turned away, giving an extra vavoom to the wiggle in my hips. I could feel his eyes bearing down on my body as I retreated outdoors, taking a seat elegantly on the steps. They were hard, and concrete, and not worthy of my sitting, but Max was out, as promised, in a few minutes. I allowed him to help me to my feet with aid of his scratchy and sweaty palm, barely able to stifle my gag reflex. I led him to my chariot which waited expectantly behind the building, hooked up to a pair of fine, well-groomed Unis. My cab driver, a toady Quiggle, ceased picking his nose the moment he saw me, sitting up straight and smiling forcedly.

"Princess Fernypoo! What a delight. I thought you'd be in there forever."

"Oh, I ran into a few … potholes," I admitted, shooting a discreet glance towards Max. He didn't catch the subtle glare. "But don't worry, Gilby, it should be smooth sailing from here on in." Max helped me into the carriage from behind, and then lumbered in himself, barely fitting into the space next to me. He was practically dripping on my fine clothes, and I subtly pulled them closer to my thighs so they wouldn't be soaked by his sweat.

"And who do we have here?" inquired Gilby—officially Gilb3rt, but nicknamed otherwise—straining his neck to get a better look at Max. Gilby grinned a stupid grin. "Another one of your admirers?"

I wanted to puke at his comment, but restrained myself to a slight burp that tasted of vomit. I laughed after the burp, waving Gilby away, regaining my ingrained manners. "No, no, no. Allow me to introduce you two. Max, this is Gilb3rt, my cab driver. Gilb3rt, this is Max, my bank clerk." I declined to mention that Gilby, trashy as he was, and I had one crucial thing in common—we were both lab rats. Only a few days earlier, Gilby had been a fine looking Purple Blumaroo—now he was reduced to the squalor of a common Green Quiggle, my worst nightmare. Shockingly, he didn't seem to mind—but such is the life of the lower class.

"Pleasure to meet you," rumbled Max, grinning that horrible, wide grin at Gilby. Gilby nodded back in acknowledgment, touching the reigns to the Uni's backs. They immediately took flight, taking our carriage along with them.

"I hope you don't mind if we eat at the Golden Dubloon," I told Max, turning to him slightly. "I know it can be a bit rowdy and trashy, but I haven't made reservations to kelp. Perhaps another time." There would be no other time, if this excursion went well. Max shrugged.

"The less it costs, the more I can afford."

I could imagine how that would be an advantage to an obese, drenched piece of dung as himself. I didn't vocalize this observation.

We arrived on the sands of Krawk Island unmarred, Gilby executing a flawless landing. (I had hired him for his impeccable skill with Unis, after all, not his dashing good looks.) I tossed Gilby a few coins to park and wait with the carriage, promising to bring a doggie bag. I walked in a few steps ahead of Max, trying to keep a visible distance that would not insult him.

The truth was, I had picked the Golden Dubloon as our dining place as I didn't fear us being seen together there. Kelp required a distinguished and well-versed guest to attend, and though I did have reservations there for today, I lacked that refined guest I sought. Perhaps if I had brought along the Shoyru I would've eaten a fine meal that day, but the Shoyru, I deduced, would not be as easily swayed as Max. Max was the sort that received minimal attention in their life, whether from their owner or other Neopets—just giving him a smattering of social interaction could yield grand favors for giving him such a rare experience.

The Golden Dubloon was loud and rowdy as always, and far too cramped for my space. Pirate Neopets and their grungy Petpets alike crowded into the restaurant, shouting in place of speaking, filling the air with chortling and occasionally engaging each other in a rousing sea chanty. While I couldn't bear the noise, discreetly plugging my ears with my antennae, Max seemed energized by the surroundings.

Captain Hackett greeted us warmly, slinging a golden-hooked arm around Max's shoulder and escorting the two of us to an intimate table. Though I would prefer to be among the sweaty-yet-chiseled bodies of the pirates, the purposes I had come to the Dubloon with required a quieter setting, and I was grateful for Hackett's consideration.

Max ordered as if he hadn't eaten in weeks, while I limited myself to a salad and a cocktail. As we waited for our order, I leaned forward across the table, indicating dialogue. Max, fascinated by the crowd, took a moment to catch on.

"So tell me, Max," I asked, scratching the side of my face lightly, "how's business these days?"

"Okay, I guess. Stock market's pretty stable, so nobody's been in a rush to deposit any Neopoints or withdraw any." He paused, awkwardly searching for a subject to segueway into. "So, um, how's, ah … whatever you do?"

"Fantastic," I replied, with a hint of sarcasm. "Despite the obvious fact that Vali's gone."

"I really am sorry for that, Princess," he insisted, nodding his head sincerely. "If I could help in anyway, I'd be on it like that." He gave a snap of his clawed fingers. I thought of approaching the subject of lending me the money on friend-to-friend terms, but decided it was far too early in the conversation to approach something prickly and fresh like that. I needed to distract him first, preferably after his first few draughts of tropical grog.

"It is … _hard_," I confessed with an elaborate sigh. "The house feels so … empty without our little Baby Grarrl wandering around. There's no one to bump into anything, to knock any vases down. Good in some senses, but … depressing in others."

"Baby Grarrl, huh? You don't see many of those lately. Everybody's in love with their … Baby Zafaras, and … Baby Unis …" He seemed to be entranced by this fact for a moment, spinning something around in his head. I caught his attention by clicking my fingers slightly, and then smiling bashfully.

"But yes, it's tragic. I've been having to drown myself in friends, and excess games of Cheat!"

"How's Cheat! working for you? You like it?"

"Of course I do. It's absolutely exhilarating. When you're in the heat of the game, inspecting everyone's faces and wondering who's a fibber, you can only concentrate on your cards and countenances. It's thrilling to keep a poker face through a time like that, and even better when you win." I paused for a beat. "If you'd like, you could come over to see my trophies sometime." False promises poured from my lips like sweat from Max's glands.

"Sure, sure," he agreed, an excitement in his voice. I almost felt guilty. "I've always wanted to play Cheat! before, but I'm not too good at reading people's faces." Apparently, because I could barely keep my face straight from breaking out into peals of saddened laughter.

"It just takes practice, really. Don't sweat it." This was an impossible feat for him.

Our food came, and he shoved plate after plate into his mouth with a seeming insatiable hunger. If I had been anywhere else, I would've gone purple with embarrassment—but in the Dubloon, I felt protected by the crowd's ignorance. I picked at my salad, my appetite diminishing just watching Max shove his face. Our topics of conversation shifted every so often, mostly by Max's means, as I was practically hypnotized by the flecks of food that poured out of his mouth when he spoke. (He hadn't the etiquette to close it while chewing.)

Finally, the topic wandered back to Vali, and I put on my best ham-act of choking back tears when he mentioned her name for the second time. He stopped in the middle of a leg of meat, crumbs raining down his chin, and gave me a quizzical look. Then, he seemed to realize that—right!—my only sister had been kidnapped. A sympathetic look oozed over his face, dragging down his eyes at the corners. He put down his leg of meat to address me directly, his cheeks still freckled with half-eaten food.

"I'm … I'm sorry I brought that up, Princess. I know it must be a sensitive subject. Have the police … found any clues that might …?"

"No!" I burst out weeping, clutching to my napkin to dot my eyes lightly to make sure my makeup wasn't streaked. This was actually true, and earlier I had reacted to the news with the same zeal of remorse. Now, though, the news had sunken in to the bottom of my stomach to fester there apathetically, and I had to dig deep into older, more painful experiences to muster up genuine tears. "No, we've got no word yet but that … blasted ransom … for … ten million Neopoints ... still accessible in my banking account …"

Max undoubtedly had heard the sum before, but he nearly choked on his water hearing it aloud. He gestured downwards to indicate that I should lower my voice. "Shhh! If there's one rule I know as a banker, it's to never admit how wealthy you are—this could end up as a second hostage situation for your owner," he hissed.

"Who cares!" I cried aloud, throwing my napkin into the air recklessly. "Who cares with my dearest sister gone! Oh, how will I ever pay that money … if I never have access to the two hundred million Neopoints on my banking account!" I made it clear that I would not temper my tantrum until something drastic was done through the elaborate flailing of my limbs. Max was looking around the Dubloon desperately, clearing his throat and swallowing excessively.

He let my flurry of sorrow go on for about a minute longer before grabbing me by the forearm, bringing it down to the table. He spoke to me in low, confidential tones. "Shhh, shh, shhh! Keep your voice down! I have a bargain for you, if you really feel that horrible about it."

Check. I allowed myself to be calmed, my screams reduced to a murmur, just barely tangible on my lips.

"I'll allow you access to your Neopian bank account … but you have to withdraw from it _slowly_. Otherwise, my manager will notice, and I'll be kicked out on the curb. Does that sound good to you?" His eyes were flashing in desperation, willing to do anything to get me to calm down. Inside, I sneered at his false belief that he had the control between us—everything was going directly to plan. Checkmate.

I sniffled, dabbing the corners of my eyes. "Oh, _thank you,_ you generous, wonderful person. I … I can't even begin to describe how grateful I am. The police are going nowhere … I just want to satisfy this person's demands."

"I understand, I understand." He was patting my hand intimately now, cupping the back of my hand with his palm. Our skin was made moist together, and I wanted to reel back in disgust, reclaiming my hand—but I had the rescued damsel in distress part to act. "Don't worry about it. I'll keep it under cover. My manager will never suspect a thing, and you'll get Vali back safe and sound."

I smothered a nose-blow into the napkin for a final effect with my free hand, smiling with watery eyes. "Oh, thank you, Max … you're my savior, you know … an absolute savior … I should thank you somehow, I really should … how about …" I tried to think of something cheap that I could throw at him that would impress his obviously thrifty tastes (at least, judging by the quality of his suit). "I… I'll pay for your dinner tonight"—a hefty sum as it stood—"and … how does … 500,000 Neopoints sound to you?"

I was afraid I would have to perform the Heimlech maneuver on him due to the way he reacted. His eyes bugged, and he seemed unable to breathe for a moment. I gave him a worrying look while he coughed loudly, thumping his chest to recover.

"Th-that's more than enough, Princess. That's … incredibly generous of you."

"Anything that I could do for Vali's savior," I insisted, stroking his knuckles lovingly. Inwardly, I cringed at my behavior, but exalted the end results and how swiftly and effortlessly I had obtained them. Sometimes, I reflected with a sideways smile, the important things were the easiest to obtain.


	3. Chapter 3

I got the money for the morphing potion.

Never mind that I had to promise some illegalities to Princess Fernypoo—something I didn't mind, as she was a nice looking Acara with a bank account as big as her diva ego. Never mind that if I actually followed through with my promises—which I would—I could potentially get fired, as my manager was diligent about checking the records. Never mind that the whole Dubloon probably had heard or deduced what I had promised her in whispered tones to calm her outburst. Never _mind_ that the first reason I had for pining after the morphing potion was just so I could be far more successful at my job, a job I would potentially lose because of obtaining the potion. The dream had gone far beyond that launching point, reaching up into the heavens and mingling among the butterfly wings of faeries. It had been a kite lost to the clouds, and now I had finally recovered the string that led to that height-scaling wonder.

So long as I had the money—the means to my ultimate goal—gripped tightly in my paw, and the access to a morphing potion, my job, my reputation; the whole of what my life equaled up until that era, was a total moot point. Everything would be washed away as soon as I tasted the sweet nectar of that potion down my throat—it would be the holy water to absolve my sins.

I've never skipped before in my life, but I made a valiant attempt to do so once Princess Fernypoo dropped me off in Neopia Central. I gave her a chivalrous kiss on the back of her hand as soon as she handed me over the promised Neopoints, bubbling with enthusiasm. I didn't even stay to see her reaction to my gesture of affection—though Fernypoo was a lovely Acara, undoubtedly, I had only a distant professional relationship with her, and this attachment did not overrule delaying the dream I had held for over three years tight in my chest.

When I arrived at Kauvara's Magic Shop, the shelves were bare with the indication of a restock only minutes ago. Kauvara looked frazzled, as she always did after the rush of customers accompanying a restock, and she could barely managed a detached smile when I entered through the heavy curtain that served as a door. I nodded towards her stiffly, the excitement of the moment beginning to immobilize my senses. I could only hope that when the time came, I would have the sudden surge of adrenaline necessary to seize the item before another customer did.

The restock was fascinating to watch. Unlike the other stores, where well-muscled Skeiths and Grarrls appeared in white-sided trucks to unload boxes upon boxes of new items to eagerly waiting potential customers, Kauvara's stock, lined up neatly on the shelves, merely blinked into existence, everything in its proper place. I had seen this happen before in passing, shocked as the windows suddenly filled up with all sorts of vials and enchanted weapons, and knew precisely where to find my morphing potion. I watched the spot where it restocked like a disciple watching his idol reappear in the flesh on earth, an unseen corona circling it.

I lunged for it, as a man at the end of the desert finding a spring would, and snatched it from the shelf. Already the store was filling to capacity with customers around me, and I rushed to forming line at the front counter, the vial held in both hands like a treasure. I practically wept when Kauvara rung it up, her wand waving gently over the bottle to bring up a price tag.

"That's going to be 450,000 Neopoints, Max."

I tried to hand them over with an air of nonchalance, but my exhilaration belayed me. My hands were trembling as the money and potion swapped hands, and Kauvara gave me a confidential smile. "Congratulations, Max," she whispered, and I could only nod—words would bring out tears.

I rushed home with my purchase in a brown bag, keeping it as close to my body as possible. As I said, it was not permissible to drink a potion in public, for God knows I would've tasted that ambrosia as soon as possible. Also, with an owner, I had to put the potion momentarily back in their inventory, and then convince her to let me drink it. Seeing as I had bought it myself, I figured this would be no issue. My owner was a slob, and often spent my Neopoints as if they were her own, but she was by no means unjust.

The door of our Neohome was open when I got there, and I burst in, immediately looking for my owner's inventory. It was in the kitchen, as she often only had food items for us, and I raced there as fast as I could. Dropping it into the large cabinet that served as our inventory, I closed the door quickly behind it, making sure that my accompanying sibling didn't see the potion. Unfortunately, I hadn't moved fast enough for that.

"Max!" I cringed inwardly, my nerves stepped upon whenever my brother raised his voice. My brother's name was Chiitsuru, and he was the spoiled one in the family—he was read all the finest Booktastic Books, fed all the Gourmet Club food, received all the Mystery and Krawk Island training, equipped with all the Hidden Tower weapons, and painted all the flashiest, most in-fashion color. Currently, he was a Christmas Zafara. He had been a Zafara since we picked him up at the pound, and this only added to my frustration about him. Besides Pteris, Zafaras were the most flighty and unreliable. Besides, they were lanky, wobbly things that got over-excited over the slightest stimulus.

"Chiitsuru, there you are," I said weakly, feigning a smile. I turned around to face him. That ridiculous smile was on his face, and his wings were flared wide as they always were, indicating intrigue.

"I saw you put somethin' in there! Lemme see!" he demanded, jumping up and down. "You get us a fancy dinner or somethin'? You find a paint brush?" He strained to see behind me, although the inventory was closed.

"Neither, Chiitsuru, neither. Where's Miko?"

"Right here." I turned to my right to see my owner walk in, flipping a strand of turquoise hair out of her eyes. Her name was Rumiko—Miko for short--and she was small, corpse-like pale, and smelled of stale cigarettes. She was nowhere near the beauty of any faerie we'd ran into, but she tried to resemble them with unnatural hair colors and a limited diet. Her face screamed corruption, though, weathered into wrinkles in all the wrong places. She held her arms akimbo. "And I saw you come in, Max. What'd you put in there?"

I stepped aside, allowing her access to the inventory. "See for yourself." I paused as she stepped forward, leaning down to open the wide cabinet. "But you have to promise me that you'll only use it on _me_. I bought it, after all."

Miko grunted, an ambiguous answer that didn't indicate compliance or refusal. She slid open the drawer, and her hands immediately went to the brown bag, opening it up. When she pulled out the vial and got a closer look at it, her eyes widened. She gave a few surprised swears, and jolted to her feet, dropping the empty bag and holding the morphing potion as if it were the grail.

"Holy cats, Korbatman!" she proclaimed, holding it out at arms length. Chiitsuru zoomed in to get a closer look, rubbing his eyes as if he couldn't believe them. "A _Faerie Ixi Morphing Potion_? How'd you get this! Rob the bank?"

"Let's just say I have a very … generous client," I said, anxiety begin to rise in me. Chiitsuru was dancing across the ground, grabbing for the vial and whining about how he wanted to drink it. I pushed him aside to get in front of Miko. "But I bought it with my own money—the client gave the money to _me_. So will you let me drink it now? I didn't want to without your permission."

Miko seemed to contemplate this point, looking down at me and then back to the morphing potion a couple of times. A disapproving look began to form its way on her face, her teeth biting the side of her cheek. "Well, I don't know about that, Max … Chiitsuru's been waiting a _long_ time to be transformed into an Ixi, let alone a Faerie Ixi, and I think it's his turn …" Chiitsuru gave a little peep of victory, still groping at the air with his claws. I pushed him aside more roughly this time, not able to believe my ears.

"_What_? I've been wanting this far longer than Chiitsuru's attention span can even _reach_—before he was even yearning for that Christmas Paint Brush!" Normally, I sucked in the bias towards Chiitsuru and had accepted it as a fact of life—but I hadn't believed that Miko would tip the scales this far in his favor. My speech seemed to further discourage Miko from granting me the potion, an unhappy snarl on her face.

"You never even talk about changing colors!" she demanded, keeping half of her attention on the jumping, squealing Chiitsuru. She smiled whenever he gaze went to him, patting him soothingly on the head, and then would turn back to me with a twitch in her features that changed them to something ugly.

"You never listen to me, that's why!" I retorted, furrowing my brow in anger. "I've told you a hundred times how much easier my job would be if I didn't look so … well, angry all the time! Or if I wasn't such a common color! My manager, he's a Desert Shoyru, and—"

"Oh, don't give me your sob story," Miko sneered, holding the potion at her chest. "I've heard it too many times before. We never have to go to the Soup Kitchen, do we? You've always got clean clothes on your back, and you've got some of the best toys Neopoints can buy. So don't give me that you're neglected bulldung."

"I don't mean neglected like that—it's … it's different. See, I have this dream and—no!"

Miko had cut off her attention towards me and was kneeling down to the complaining Chiitsuru, uncorking the potion and lifting the vial towards his lips. I burst forward, grabbing the thicker part of the vial with one hand, and pulled it backwards. Only a taste of the potion splattered onto Chiitsuru's lips, and he gave a low wail, reaching forward for the potion.

The vial, though, was now between the grasps of Miko and my own, each of our muscles straining against each other to reclaim hold of the vial. The bluish-purple potion inside sloshed back and forth, toppling over the opening occasionally and splashing onto our hands. I was shouting at Miko for wasting my money while Miko just repeated to me to give it back—that it wasn't mine, and Chiitsuru deserved it. We rocked back and forth, often momentarily trading the upper hand, until I could feel the vial slipping into my grasps. Simply put, Miko didn't have the proper grip on the vial and her weak human arms couldn't compete with the strength and endurance of the arms of a Skeith.

Yet this power, in the moment it seemed to be to my advantage, suddenly turned against me. As soon as Miko let go, my balance was offset, and my hands seemed to fail to grasp onto the vial, threatening to drop it with a crash to the tile. I compensated by gripping it harder instinctively, my claws seeming to sink into the glass—and then they did, and the delicate vial shattered within my clutches.

The potion sprayed everywhere at the puncture, the majority of it falling to the ground and instantly vanishing in a gaseous hiss. Some of it landed on my arm and coat jacket, singeing the skin and eroding some of the fabric. The most unfortunate part, though, was where the glass had punctured my palm, some of the acidic potion seeping into the freshly formed wounds.

I cried out, half in pain and half in mortification at how easily my dream had been shattered—by my own hands. Miko was staring at me, surprised at first, but then allowed a long smirk to come across her face. Chiitsuru was crying selfishly, lamenting how he had only gotten a taste, and how he now wanted more. I was too numb to react to his stupidity—to how I had actually bought the potion and hadn't received a taste at all. Even the liquid that splashed onto my arm had evaporated too quickly to lap up, instead absorbing into my skin with a painful sting.

"See what you get, Max? See what you get when you're selfish? Your brother could have at least benefited from your purchase, but _no_. You had to have it yourself!" lectured Miko, shaking a finger at me, chastising. Her lecture didn't last long, however, because Chiitsuru emitted a loud wail, forcing her to turn to the little Skeith to give him the attention he shrieked for. She petted him underneath the halo gently and scratched behind his wings, her attitude changing from one of strict schoolmarm to one of affectionate mother, coddling her favorite child.

I could only watch this exchange of sickening sympathy so long. Brushing the crimson-colored fragments of glass from my hand, I turned to exit the kitchen, my body filled with ice. I could hear Miko's voice crying after me, rasping for all of that wretched smoke she inhaled and exhaled every day like a chimney.

"Max! Get back here and clean up your mess! Take out the trash, too! You didn't do that yesterday!"

I ignored her shrill, scratchy screams—an unusual thing for me to do. Normally, I would turn back with a sigh and a slump of my shoulders and crawl back into the house to do her bidding. Today, though, nothing seemed more repulsive than reentering that household as soon as I stepped foot outside—to trade that stagnant air for the fresh and flowing wind of outdoors. I could only sense the high, suffocating pressure of oppression behind me, and it held no secrets to which I didn't already know the answer. I kept my back turned to their hostility, filling my lungs with the sun, and walked into Neopian Square.

"Sllllaaaaaaaaave! I aaaaaaaaaaaaamm huuuuuuuuuuungrrrryyyyyyy! Geeeeeeeeeeet meeeeeeeeee fooooooooooooooooood!"

I knew that drawn out, echoing voice anywhere, even if I had been completely on the other side of the Haunted Woods. I was within walking distance this time, though, so it only made the voice more susceptible to give me a headache. I muttered something foul under my breath and trudged through the shrubbery to make a bee-line towards the Esophagor, knowing that if I got there any later than necessary, I would pay for it in beatings.

When I arrived, the Esophagor was above ground, still wailing uncontrollably about his empty stomach. I was panting when I arrived, having sprinted through terrain that would've been tough for an experienced hiker to walk.

"You know," I wheezed, wiping my forehead just below my brain, "you think it might be possible for you to get gastric bypass surgery?"

"Siiiiiiiiiileeeeeeeeeeencee! Dooooooooooo noooooooooooooooot moooooooooock the Esooooooooophaaaaaaagooooooooooooor!"

"Right," I grumbled, rubbing my forehead, "right. Now what's it you want today, boss?"

"Geeeeeeeeet meeeeeeeeeee myyyyyyyy Skeeeeeeeeith Juuuuuuuuuuice Coooooooocktaaaaaaaaaaaail!" he roared, his mouth opening so slowly as to draw out every word.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm going. Anything else you'd like, while I'm at it? I don't want to come running back for nothing."

"Deeeeeeviiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiled Steaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaak."

"I'm on it, boss."

Though that was mostly a lie. I started heading north as if going towards the Deserted Fairground to buy legitimately off that cheapskate Bruce, but veered left behind the Stone Battledome so the Esophagor wouldn't notice me heading towards the Brain Tree. I could see his pulsating brain even from the back of the Stone Battledome, and I gave a little shudder. As much as the Brain Tree had been a doll with taking up Vali (I wouldn't've been able to stomach living with a littl'un, and the fact that I, being an animate object that could move, would be more suspect than the Brain Tree), it was still hard for me to look past his face and up to his branches.

Making sure not to approach him from behind (I had heard dreadful tales about what happened to Neopets that dared wandered behind the Tree), I tried to creep up from him at the side, tiptoeing as softly as I could through the heavy underbrush.

"I beg you not to insult my intelligence like that, Kacheek," the Brain Tree rumbled, not even bothering to look in my direction. Baffled, I wondered briefly if he had eyes in his branches. "If you want to speak to me, approach from the front. I'm not keen on stalkers, and you wouldn't be keen on what I do to stalkers."

"Not a stalker here, Tree," I replied, holding my hands up innocently as I emerged from the underbrush. The Brain Tree lifted one of his craggy eyebrows at me, his usual critical look examining me mercilessly. I shivered under that gaze as I always did, and then cleared my throat to indicate a shift towards a lighter topic. "So it's, uh, great weather here in the Haunted Woods." This was a lie under normal environments—it was overcast and lightning and thunder stewed in the distance—but for the Haunted Woods, it was fairly temperate. The Brain Tree still seemed bitter towards this statement.

"I'm not a Tree to small talk with, Kacheek, and if you'd like to, I'd recommend one of the dead ones around me. They'll probably have more to say," snapped the Brain Tree. He wore glasses at the moment (something I found slightly absurd and hilarious, but couldn't manage to laugh at), and held a book between two branches. Vali, as I noticed, was nowhere in sight. "Now make your point, and make it quick."

"Albert Kacheek died during 7 AN in the Haunted Woods." That was the current year. The Brain Tree sighed irritably, and put down his book on a nearby stump. I wondered how he could use the expired body of a former comrade as a bookstand.

"Everyone's a comedian, aren't they," growled the Brain Tree, though he seemed more willing to speak. "I hope you've come to check in on Validated, or I'd have to say you are a pretty irresponsible crook."

"Is there any other kind?" I asked innocently, batting what was left of my eyelashes.

He ignored my mocking. "Vali is doing fine. She's been very … excitable." When he said these words, an irritated tiredness overcame his eyes. From what I could gather from his expression, Vali's youth was wearing him down.

"Where is she?" I asked, looking up reluctantly to his higher branches.

"Here." He lowered a branch suddenly, seeming to spontaneously bloom from his brain. Vali sat on the limb, clinging to it with her weak forearms, gurgling stupidly and dribbling at the mouth. "I've come across a few problems with her," said the Brain Tree, a repugnant tone in his voice. "First of all, I'm not sure what she eats. I've been feeding her from what Edna's been bringing me, but she is picky of what she'll accept as food."

"Still looks pretty well-fed to me," I commented, giving a look over Vali's body. The baby fat still encompassed her frame in rolls and pressing flesh.

"Yes, when she finds something she likes, she eats it in mass quantities. But for the second part … she's not … trained for the latrine."

"She's not _what_?" If the Brain Tree had cheeks or blood vessels, he would've been blushing.

"She's not potty trained. And you gave me no diapers. She's … making a mess around my trunk." I had noticed that something smelled off around the area the Brain Tree was planted, but I assumed that it was just some chemical that Edna had dropped on one of her regular rounds to pick up spell ingredients around the Brain Tree. I backed up a little, wary of stepping into any surrounding dung.

"Ah, well … I guess you've got a great natural fertilizer here, then," I quipped, trying to get the Brain Tree to see the brighter side of things. He responded with a glare.

"This isn't a funny thing, Kacheek," he growled. "Your burden is causing me to live in fecal filth."

"Don't worry, you'll get used to her. Maybe you could even teach her to use the 'potty,' eh?" I mocked, using that juvenile word so unlike his usual pretentious vocabulary.

"Get out of my sight, Kacheek," he hissed, his spiteful voice like a hot breeze in summer. He motioned towards Vali with a branch. "And take this little bugger with you. Nobody assigned me the task of cleaning your dirty laundry." He goaded her forward with his branch, and she whined slightly, giving a hurt look towards the Brain Tree. She reached back and grasped to his branch protectively, as if it were a security blanket.

"Awww, but she seems to like you so much," I cooed, giving the Brain Tree some pouting lips. This time, the Brain Tree actually swung a branch down and slapped me, to which I replied with an offended "ow!"

"Take her!" he commanded, casting her towards me. She cried out disapprovingly, nuzzling her cheek against his branch.

"Okay, I've got an idea," I said, stalling. I held out my hands as if in a truce to avoid being further pummeled by a branch. "I'm gonna stand over here"—I indicated a place far from the Brain Tree—"and you're, uh, gonna stay over there. You're gonna put Vali in the middle. Whoever she goes to first, has to keep her. Deal?"

"No deal, Kacheek!" thundered the Brain Tree. "I didn't agree to this arrangement—I didn't participate in your foul kidnapping! Take this child and get out of my sight!"

His voice was booming like an intercom across the Haunted Woods, and a wave of paranoia washed over me as to the ears that might be listening. I tried to hush him, but apparently my intervention was unnecessary. During his shouts, the look of urgency had fallen off Vali's face and given way to a trembling bottom lip, her green eyes filling with tears. As soon as the Woods turned to silence again, the quiet was broken by a sudden high-pitched wailing and a flurry of tears falling down Vali's face. We both looked down at the Baby Grarrl suddenly and dumbly, our faces blank at the shift in situation. Neither of us, obviously, had ever tended to an infant before, and the prospect of soothing its tears seemed, at that moment, impossible.

I looked up to the Brain Tree. "Uh, you're the brains of this operation. What're we supposed to do?"

"I know nothing of younglings. I'm a tree—we don't deal with these sniveling things, we deal with saplings. They raise themselves."

"I think you should, uh, comfort it or something."

"Me? This wasn't my plan, Kacheek. Do your own comforting!"

The Brain Tree turned away from Vali, who continued to weep uncontrollably. Awkwardly, I approached Vali while the Brain Tree watched on, seeming to evaluate my every move. Clearing my throat, I sat in front of the bawling Grarrl, and held out my arms in a gesture of goofy, welcoming affection. I grinned as stupidly as my features would allow, letting my tongue roll out the side of my mouth for effect. "Come to daddy, Baby Vali!"

The Grarrl gave one look at me and intensified her blubbering, filling the air with a squealing frequency. I writhed backwards, gripping at my ears, and gestured at her with my chin for the Brain Tree. "See? I'm no good with this stuff! _You_ do it, she likes you better!"

"Ignorant," spat the Brain Tree. "Of course she will cry if you confront her with a hideous visage like yours. Come here." He directed the last sentence towards Vali rather than me, stretching down a branch to the upset Grarrl. He wrapped the branch around her waist, and gently slid her towards his trunk. Once she sat at his roots, he reached down further branches to comfort her, stroking her skin with noticeable fragility despite the tough and scratchy nature of his bark. Slowly, Vali's sobs began to reduce in volume, and then disappeared altogether. She gave a brief smile before seeming to decide the tears had tuckered her out, and then reclined back on the Brain Tree and napped immediately.

"You sure have a way with babies," I said, whistling lowly.

"Quiet," said the Brain Tree, his tone low to accommodate for Vali's nap. "You'll wake her."

"Somebody's a good Daddy."

"Silence your lips, Kacheek, before these other branches decide to bludgeon you." His tone had intention in it, even being quiet. "Get out of here, immediately."

"Don't want me to take Vali with me anymore?"

"With the intimacy you just displayed there? She'll be dead in a day. Probably eaten by the Esophagor," snarled the Brain Tree.

"Hey, that reminds me—I'm on an errand for my slave master. Toodle-loo, my buddy!" I said, turning tail as soon as I had effectively changed the topic. I scooted away, trying to outrun any outbursts the Brain Tree might have towards me, but my stubby legs weren't quick enough to carry me to safety. I felt a hard whip on my bum as I scrambled off, giving a yelp and a jump. Like a Uni on the racetrack, it only encouraged me to go faster.


	4. Chapter 4

I had never had a pupil before, so I didn't know how well my teaching skills would fare in the face of a thoughtless and unversed Baby like Vali. However, I didn't know what else to do to occupy the Grarrl's time, and feeding it valuable knowledge seemed like the only thing I was qualified to do. Vali often indicated she wanted to play, rolling mud up into balls and throwing them at my trunk, but I had no desire to participate in her crude and mind-numbing games. Instead, I began to seat her at a flat stone next to a patch of mud I could write in, giving her a piece of charcoal to imitate my work on the stone.

She was, from what she showed me on the stone, a fairly adept learner, but copying my mathematics and then applying the concepts to new problems didn't seem to enchant her the same way it entranced me. She was studious, and gradually learned to do the problems well, but she did it with such ennui in her eyes that I could almost feel her agony. Seeing this, I slowly began to give her periods of free time, wherein she was allowed to do whatever she pleased. During these times, she would pester me for a game, and soon I grew receptive to those wide, insisting eyes. Feigning chagrin, I'd finally give in to her games, balling up a quantity of mud for us to toss back and forth. She'd squeal whenever she was splattered, which was often, and then hide her head underneath a bush, just her cinnabar tail sticking in the air.

I grew attached to these games, though Vali was inventing a new one every second. One of her favorites was hide-and-seek, even though she was a terrible player and I always ended up winning. The few times I didn't find her were out of charity to her self-esteem.

Edna and I had figured out which foods she preferred, and which foods to force her to eat for health. She didn't handle solid foods very well, so I had Edna melt down or blend fruits and other foods together to make unique, Spooky-colored shakes. Vali drank them thirstily, though she gave some evidence of teething judging by all the stray branches that had subtle teeth marks in them. She would sometimes bite me playfully, and would leave small indents on my bark.

One of her favorite, but most peculiar, hobbies was watching the small flower that continued to flourish. I instructed her on how to water it, to ensure it sunlight and how to keep it growing. She extended these skills to the weeds that surrounded my trunk as well, but she treated the Neopian beauty with special care, making sure to give it the water with the least mud. Vali tended it diligently, as if it were her own child. I watched her go through these motions with an odd familiarity picking at the back of my consciousness, though I couldn't put a branch on quite what.

When she tired, she retreated to the low, thick part of my branches, reserving the thin and high ones for random adventures which I supervised. She would make-believe throughout these journeys, informing me on which sea we sailed as pirates or which ally of Sloth we fought while tumbling through space. She used one of my splinters as a multi-purpose weapon—sometimes a sword, sometimes a space ray, with a million other identities. She narrated in a lisp but with enough zeal to practically convince me that I could smell the salt water lingering in the air.

Vali never liked when darkness fell—I assumed she had a nightlight at home (a device some younger Neopets had told me of once) and the only light the Haunted Woods provided was the sallow, mournful face of the moon. I'd stay fully awake all night to rock her in my boughs gently, feeling her body shiver against the Werelupe howls in the night. More sinister to me was the crunching noise that came behind me from the black beast, but I had kept Vali mostly in the dark about this threat. Instead, I had rigidly informed her never to travel behind me, but to always keep to my sides and my front. As far as I had seen, she had followed instructions with exemplary quality.

But the beast knew of Vali, whether or not Vali knew of the beast. It could smell her fleshy body from within my branches, and it craved her presence behind my trunk. It would often lick its lips and cackle darkly during the night, whispering bone-chilling threats to me while using the back of my trunk as a scratching post. I gritted my teeth against its claws sunken into my bark and bore the pain, unwilling to relinquish Vali to relieve my pain.

At first I thought I defended Vali because I had, in some way, given an oath to Albert that I would keep Vali safe—but over time, I was realizing that perhaps not all of my allegiance lay in the Kacheek, who I was growing to loathe even more. I refused to admit to myself, though, where my loyalty was beginning to lie. I would not admit that underneath my craggy bark laid a bleeding heart.

So instead I began to claim that my devotion laid in the flower she so lovingly tended, and that without her deft caretaking it would wilt and perish. I watched that flower bloom and shut its lips during nighttime with the same alacrity I watched Vali stumble playfully through my branches, both of them innocents in a tarnished world.

I woke up the next morning. I wasn't sure where I was, actually, and it took me a while for me to register it as my bed. I blinked, and stared at the ceiling. I didn't remember coming home last night—then again, I didn't remember a lot about last night. My wrist and forearm stung on my right arm, and that carried a memory I would rather forget. So I walked to the bathroom to wash of the sleeve of the suit I had slept in, scrubbing the trashy fabric with hand soap. My skin felt a little better, but a slight burn remained where the memory had spilled. I shook off my arm until it was only damp and walked back into my room.

I had work that day. I remembered it because it was on the calendar draped over my mirror, hiding half of my face from view. I gave the calendar a blank stare, and then pushed it aside to see the whole of my face. It was wider than I recalled. I seemed to have gained weight around the cheeks and neck, though my torso and the rest of my body seemed the same—old clothes fit on my body as they always had. I had had this suit for years, and it still felt the same, as if it had just been brought home to be tailored by hand by Miko, as she didn't want to spend extra money on a professional.

I noticed my tie had been removed from beneath the collar of my white shirt, which smelled like sweat and soap. The fabric was dry, but it held the sticky evidence of previous moisture. I didn't bother to change it, but I opened my top drawer to my ties. They were lined up like criminals to be inspected by a victim. Each suspect, though, was a twin to his neighbor—they were all blue, without variation. I looked at them, squinting my eyes. When had I acquired such a vast array of blue ties? I didn't even like the color blue—I didn't like green either, the color of my skin, but that didn't matter as much as my tie. Where were the red ties? Where were the lavender ties? Where were the ties with polka dots and stripes? Just solid blue ties, like an ocean of cloth that never ends.

I waded my hands through that ocean, and then threw up a wave, a handful of blue ties jumping out of the dresser. I stomped them with a satisfying feel, and then undid the buttons at the top of my shirt. I would go with a better tie today, or I would go with no tie at all.

Whistling, I went out of my room and into the kitchen. As usual, nobody met me by the Neopian Times in the middle of the table. I went automatically to brew a pot of coffee—and then stopped myself. When I thought about it, hard and long, I really didn't want coffee at all—it was a terrible and bitter drink, and briefly, I wondered why I had started drinking it. 'For the energy' came to mind, but more prominently the fact that all of my co-workers had guzzled its unpleasantness religiously. I turned away from the coffeemaker, and towards the inventory.

Unlike things of high significance, like morphing potions, gourmet foods or Booktastic Books, regular food, if in an owner's inventory, was available to all Neopets under said owner. I browsed through the inventory, momentarily pausing on Hot Chocolate with Marshmallows—but suddenly, the sweet drink left just as bitter a mark in my memory as coffee. It seemed to reek of unhealthiness, and for one reason or another, my cells screamed for wellbeing.

At the bottom of our inventory, I found a slightly crushed Small Lemon Blitz Smoothie. Smoothies were one of Chiitsuru's favorite foods, and during the day Miko usually stockpiled them, Chiitsuru burning through them in a twenty-four hour period. This one, though, he seemed to have missed, and I was grateful for it. When I put the crumpled straw to my lips and sucked, a burst of flavor exploded on my tongue, addictive and acidic.

Slurping the smoothie, I reached over to my briefcase, which I had thrown to the ground in a hurry to put the morphing potion in the inventory. I walked to work, rather than take the bus as I usually did, even though the bank was remarkably close to my Neohome. Outside of public transportation, I began to notice things on my route to work that had eluded me inside the bus. The road was hemmed on the side with picket fences, but behind those fences lay the most well-tended gardens I had ever seen. I thought it a pity they were blocked, and leaned over each of them to see the flowers and have their scent grace my nose. A few owners reprimanded me for my intrusion, but I ignored their complaints. To build a thing of beauty and to only let Neopets see glimpses of it through the slots, I reasoned, was a form of thievery, robbing others of the excess splendor that their prison fences contained like captives.

Work, when I arrived, was boring, and I detached myself from the experience to survive it. I had always detached myself before, but now the separated ego seemed phenomenally distasteful of how I went about my job. It watched as I kissed the behinds of the undeserving and contemptuous, no matter how they treated me. The self that lingered on the walls grew disgusted with the passiveness I received such spiteful characters. It wondered from the ceiling how I didn't have the taste of dung on my lips by the end of the day.

Soon, though, that soul returned to my body, desperate for the revenge that I had been too weak to exact until that moment. A particularly difficult client—Ms. Uilikee, a snooty Silver Kougra—was hassling me to withdraw money from the bank for what seemed the umpteenth time. She did this daily, and I had become accustomed to cutting myself off from the abuse. Now, though, the wounds seemed fresh, and I reacted with uncharacteristic causticity.

"_No_, Ms. Uilikee, I _can't_ withdraw 10,000 Neopoints for the_ tenth time today_. It's just not our policy." It was a line I had delivered repeatedly—now it was laced with blatant hatred. She raised an eyebrow at me, baring a fang.

"Are you getting moody with me, Max?" she demanded, thumping a paw down on the counter.

"Why yes, Ms. Uilikee, I am," I said with mock pleasantry, and then began my diatribe. "See, here's my guff: you come in here every day and try to withdraw 10,000 Neopoints from your account at a go at least thirteen times a day—now not only should you know that thirteen is an unlucky number, and you'll probably go to Hell for it, you also signed a _contract_ when you started your account to withdraw no more than ten times a day. Furthermore, I have no idea what you're spending this money on, and whatever it is, it better be paying back money, because let me tell you something: there is nothing, there is negative, and then there is your balance."

Ms. Uilikee's mouth was hanging open, revealing a full set of sharp teeth that at that moment seemed less threatening than a Uni's. I suddenly smiled amiably at her, as if nothing had happened. "Now. What transaction would you like to pursue, Ms. Uilikee?"

She answered me with a series of insulting remarks, and then turned tail furiously and stormed out of the building, holding her tail up and waving it to try and retain her pride. The other tellers around me gave me a look that implied I was crazy—clearly they had seen how I handled the ordeal. Nevertheless, something inside of me was proud—a part of myself that I had sacrificed to the system realigned itself in the shattered portrait of my life.

I was pulled aside by Lester, my Desert Shoyru manager, at the end of the day, and he confronted me on the subject, saying that Ms. Uilikee had called after she left and filed a complaint. "Do you want to explain yourself?" Lester asked calmly, his gaze fixed evenly on my own. Usually, this would cause my eyes to drop to my toes and my throat to clear like saliva from Pavlov's dog—but this time was different. I kept his gaze steadily, not answering until _he_ was the one to first divert his eyes, a troubled look crossing his face.

"No," I said after a moment of thought. "No, I really don't." Lester looked at me as if I had suddenly lost an eyeball. I returned his gaze, complacent. He tried to shift it so he was in control again, clearing his throat and putting on a deeper, aggressive tone.

"Consider this a warning, Max," he said lowly, tilting his head downwards so I could see the whites of his eyes. "The next transgression will put you on probation, and anything after that, you're out of here."

"Great, just two more strikes?" I asked with a tone of relief. I wiped my forehead and smiled. "Whew. I thought I might have to kill someone or something. Catch you later."

It was a phrase I had never used, but somehow seemed appropriate at that point as I pointed a finger-gun at Lester and gave him a wink as I turned to leave. I left the Shoyru flustered and confused, perhaps wondering if this hidden smart aleck had been in me all alone. He yelled at me "Wear a tie!" but his voice was absorbed by the breeze, and I was thankful for that.

I left ten minutes early from work, whistling a tune I couldn't quite remember as I again walked down the sidewalk. I contemplated stopping at Hubert's Hotdogs for lunch, but instead opted for the Health Shop, greeted by a green and fit Quiggle. I leaned against the counter once I entered. Few people frequented the shop, compared to Kauvara's, and I could take my time in ordering. Additionally, I had a few questions to throw at the Quiggle.

"So," I said, my elbow resting on the counter, "I've been thinking about starting a diet and exercise plan, or something." I patted my belly affectionately. "Much as I love this guy, he's been getting in the way of some of my … ideas." What these ideas were at this time, I wasn't sure, but they were simmering independently in the back of my mind, soon to surface. "You seem to be pretty in shape. What'd you recommend?"

"Well," started the Quiggle, biting his lip as he looked me up and down, "you might want to start walking regularly, and then increasing that to a jog. That'll help burn off a lot of your … extra weight. Also, you might want to try to eat a … vegetarian diet." My stomach dropped at that prospect, but I tried to not make it apparent on my face. The Quiggle sat forward, trying to be as helpful as possible. "If you'd like, I can walk around the room and collect a bag of what you might eat … maybe even write out a list for meal options."

"Go for it, please," I nodded, and he picked up a brown paper bag near the side of the counter, beginning to tour me around the store. He shoved a lot of greens in the back—vegetables I hadn't even known existed. I listened patiently as he explained the benefits of each food with a sagacious tone, seeming to have experimented with and then memorized all of the effects of the food. There was no meat in the bag—not even organic meat—but the Quiggle provided me with alternatives to juicy steaks and incredible burgers. I didn't know how I felt about tofuburgers quite yet, but the proof would be in the taste.

The total, price-wise, was expensive, but the Quiggle gave me a first-timer discount and a card to bring back for further rebates. I thanked him and walked back home, experimentally chomping on a carrot. It wasn't as satisfying as sinking my teeth into the stringy meat of a steak, but it made my intestines feel better afterwards.

Arriving at home, I found Miko watching the television blankly while Chiitsuru slept on the couch beside her. There was genuine intimacy between them—Miko held her hand protectively over Chiitsuru's ears while Chiitsuru laid his head on her thigh—but their alliance against me disallowed me appreciation of their tenderness. Miko looked up as the door closed behind me, her feet submerged in a sea of empty Chinese takeout containers.

"Max, you're home early," she commented suspiciously, lifting an eyebrow.

"Yep. Lester let me out early." I mused internally on how easy and effortless it was to lie.

"Mmm," Miko replied absentmindedly, picking up the remote and flipping the channels. "You didn't take out the trash yesterday."

"I know." I aimed my briefcase for the corner and threw it—it landed with a crash, nearly breaking through the cheap drywall. Miko nearly jumped out of her seat, rousing Chiitsuru.

"For the love of—Max, what are you _doing_?" demanded Miko, straining her head to look in the kitchen.

"Nothing," I replied, putting the brown paper back on the cabinet. I began to unpack, propping the refrigerator open. Miko, rubbing her eyes to adjust from a pixel reality to one of flesh and blood, walked bare-footed into the kitchen. For her sake, I hoped she had cleaned up any glass fragments from last night.

"Got groceries?" she commented on the obvious. She picked a carrot out of the opened bag, munching on it idly.

"Yeah."

"This is pretty atypical of you," she said, gesturing towards the greens as I unpacked them.

"I felt like a change." I paused briefly. "I'm going to go out to buy some ties later."

"Okay."

"I need some Neopoints."

"You have your own."

I remained silent, putting away the last of the lettuce and cabbage into the crisper. I started unpacking the bottom of the bag, filled with vegan soups.

"Did you hear me about the garbage?" asked Miko, raising an eyebrow.

"Loud and clear."

"So, you're going to do that now, aren't you?"

I contemplated this for a minute, studying the paper label of a soup can. A Tomato Chia grinned up at me self-destructively from the can of tomato soup. "No, I don't think I am."

"Then later."

"No, I don't think I'll do that later either."

Miko suddenly intercepted my meditation unpacking, throwing a hand in front of the cabinet. Calmly, I looked back at her. Her face was serious, though not yet upset. "Listen to me for a second, Max. Take out the trash, right now. Don't even pack away that can. Just do as I say."

"Why?" I asked with honest curiosity.

"Because I'm your owner. I provide you with everything you have in your tiny little life. This is the least you can do for gratitude."

"Gratitude?" I almost died laughing. "I bring in the whole of your income. It's only _you_ that decides to spend it—on luxuries for your precious little Zafara and trashy videos and crummy food. You're dependent on me for Neopoints."

"I can abandon you." The statement was meant to be inflammatory, and by the reddening look on Miko's face there was some serious consideration dwelling in the back of her brain. "I can take you to the Pound and leave you there. C'mon—who's going to want a pathetic little green Skeith? You'll be in there forever."

"And what'll become of you?" I responded, my head far cooler than hers. "Where will you get your money to pay for Chiitsuru's spoiled little life? Will you be content with the paint brushes from the newbie pack Will the soup kitchen be a good substitute for Gourmet Food?" I delivered all these suggestions with a subtle, scathing nature, a smile curling at the ends of my lips. Miko was fuming, her ears as bring as the tomato soup I stored away in the cabinet.

"It doesn't matter! There's other ways to make money. You have no idea how good I am at games."

"Is that so? Your hand eye coordination so good from doing all that remote clicking?" I mused.

"Shut up and obey me! Go and take out the trash!" demanded Miko, and stomped her foot meaningfully, inches from my toes.

I looked at her complacently, and smiled. I reached across the crumb-encrusted counter to the sugar bowl, grasping it and holding it momentarily in my hand, seeming to meditate it. Then, with a suddenness, I swung my arm and threw the sugar bowl hard against the wall. The ceramic split on impact, spilling a waterfall of sugar down the wall, some clinging to the wallpaper from the collision. Miko shrieked slightly, ducking at the sound and then slowly straightening up, looking at the ruined sugar bowl and then back to me, surprised and outraged.

"Max, what the _heck_ was that! That was some of our finest china! It's bad enough you wrecked that potion last night—now you have to go—"

She didn't finish her sentence. I had already reached for the salt dispenser, and threw that against the wall alongside the stain of sugar. I kept the smile on my face as she stared at me in shock, and the pepper dispenser followed his sodium-based brother. The fragments of each fell to the floor in a pile of mixed spices with a bigger chunks of porcelain, appearing like the wreckage in a town entombed by volcano ash. Having made my point with hurling the items against the wall, I looked back into Miko's eyes which stared at me unblinking. Deep within her green eyes, I saw fear and hatred, mingling in the far depths of her cranium. Up front, however, she only let her shock manifest itself, petrifying her face.

There was a tension between us. There had always been. Our relationship was attached only by a string—the string I was born with, connected to her, committed. I had been the servant, and she the master. She had taught me to heel at her feet obediently for so long, struggling to keep her pace while she held Chiitsuru and carried him in her hands. Now, though, I had strained against the leash, and was continuing to strain. Even though she was the one that supposedly held me on a choke-collar, she was the one struggling for air, asphyxiated by the heightened awareness in the room.

I smiled. I smiled one of the first genuine smiles I had produced in months, the kind that comes from the stomach to the lips. The smile was so sincere I almost expected Miko to catch on, and smile right back—even start to laugh. She didn't.

"I think I'm going to go buy a tie now," I said lightheartedly. I turned away from her, leaving a single can left in the brown paper bag. Miko was left silent behind me, half-staring at my back with the worn seams of my suit and half staring at the wreckage near the wall.

I found reason to pause before I left, though. In the middle of the dining room table was something I hadn't noticed before, if indeed it had been there previously. It was a glass vase, containing no water but a sampling of flowers, flowers that had no business being placed together. It was a poor arrangement, and upon closer inspection my suspicions were confirmed: they were fake plastic, and hardly convincing replicas seen up close. Yet from afar I could almost swear they were alive, blooming from a base without nutrition—without roots or food.

It was a false magnificence, though, and I put one hand over the petals of a flower and crushed them. They yielded to my hand, and when I reopened my fist, the petals rearranged themselves back into their synthetic place, undisturbed by movement. The smile turned to one of pity, without my knowing why.

With a swipe of my hand to the vase, the glass slid across the table with a skitter and succumbed to gravity. The glass tumbled to the floor and created a new heap, leaving pseudo-flowers—weeds usurping flora's throne—scattered amongst the remains of transparency. Walking out the door, I wondered what had so upset me about those flower—what had moved me to kill what could not be destroyed. Then I remembered. Imitations bastardize true beauty in the sense that they're indestructible. Beauty is fleeting and temporary, lasting for a weekend in spring and susceptible to the slightest footstep.

Real flowers break when you bend them.

The money was delivered to me covertly on the roof of my apartment complex, only two days after Max and I had negotiated withdrawing the ransom from my account. Max had agreed to pump money from his own personal account into mine, so it would appear as if only a small amount of money had been withdrawn. I found it curious that he should agree to such a large donation (for him) on my part when we only had a professional relationship, excluding the visit to the Dubloon. Internally, I wondered if my powers of seduction carried more weight than I had previously suspected, but externally I lavished Max with a gigantic amount of flattery.

To my surprise, he did not receive it with the same desperateness as he had before. Naturally, he did bask in it slightly, but he did not seem to need it with as much urgency as he had before. In fact, there was something inside of him that had changed in the few days since I had seen him. A vibrancy had increased in him, and as he passed the suitcase stacked with money to me, a current ran through his fingers to mine. Alarmingly, I found myself being drawn to him slightly, but immediately pushed the thought to the back of my mind, canceling such repulsive thoughts.

"Thank you, Max," I said breathlessly, acting my best damsel in distress. "You're a … lifesaver."

"It was nothing," he said with a wave of his hand, and it honestly seemed dismissive. I looked him up and down, quizzically, and confronted him directly.

"Something's changed about you," I stated bluntly, not bothering to equip my voice with a breathy pitch. "You're different than the teller I'm used to. Are you sure you're not another Green Skeith?"

"Same as always," grinned Max, and that toothy smile seemed less repugnant than before. Granted, it still sent unwieldy shivers down my spine, but not as many as before. "I just had a bit of a realization."

"Mind sharing it with me?"

"It's something you've gotta find for yourself," he admitted, shrugging apologetically. "Just out of curiosity, how far are the cops on the case?"

"They're narrowed down Vali's location to somewhere between Terror Mountain and the Lost Desert."

"Useless," laughed Max, shaking his head.

"The wheels of justice are rusted in Neopia," I said with chagrin. "But this will help grease them." I indicated the briefcase. "Mind if I check?" I didn't wait for Max's answer. I bent down on the rooftop, unclipped the locks and lifted the top of the briefcase. Neatly lined were stacks upon stacks of Neopoints, the smell of freshly minted money wafting into the air. My eyes rolled back in ecstasy. "If they could only bottle that scent," I crooned.

"Work at the bank," muttered Max. "You smell that dung every day."

"Never say that about money," I said defensively, stroking the bills. I shut the suitcase top suddenly, straightening up. "Thanks for this, Max. I really do appreciate it."

"Any time, any time," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Though you may want to switch to another teller soon." I cocked my head, raising an eyebrow.

"Why?"

"Don't mind that. Go get Vali," he said, waving me towards the stairs. "You go first. I'll follow after to leave, so it doesn't look like we're together. That could be suspicious."

I exited first as instructed, walking to my room. I could almost feel Max following in my wake—there was a new aura around him, one that pulsed with a greater intensity so it was something I could feel. It disappeared once I guided him down the elevators, watching as his face was slowly concealed by the closing metal, my face reflecting back where his had been.

I retreated to my room. My owner was out, probably at the Game Room earning us some extra Neopoints just for kicks. I often wondered why she resorted to such idle and ridiculous ways to earn Neopoints—the majority of her wealth came from her enormous and affluent store in the Marketplace—but when I asked her, she only shrugged and smiled. "What would life be without some of the stupid things?" she'd ask rhetorically, and then scamper out the door with a bulging pocket of Neopoints.

The police had confiscated the ransom note to check for fingerprints and DNA samples. The results from those weren't back yet, and I had suspected they just took the evidence so I wouldn't have a number or a place to call back the kidnapper at. Fortunately, I had known better than to trust them wholly with the note—before I gave them the original, I copied down the number on a crinkled piece of paper and shoved the scrap into my journal to be recovered for future use.

Now I turned to my journal, a thing I normally retreated to only during the bad times. Surprisingly, I hadn't written a word about the Vali situation—perhaps it was still too fresh to document. Yet as soon as I pulled the piece of paper out of the notebook, I felt compelled to write, as if the blank pages drew me in to confession. I resisted the urge to write, knowing that I had to get this ransom business over with quickly. Every moment I didn't hand over the money was another moment for Vali in a potentially dangerous situation that could result in God knows what for her.

I rang up the number—judging by what I could decipher from the number itself, it wasn't a residential number. My hands shook as I typed in the number of the keyboard, and chills ran through me with each ring. The phone seemed to shrill endlessly, setting my nerves on end, but finally someone—or something—picked up at the other end. The line was silent for a second, and finally I cleared my throat, unable to eradicate a sliver of fear from my voice.

"Hello?" No response. "Hello?" Still, nothing. "This is … I'm … we're looking for Vali. I was instructed in the note that this was the—"

"Where are you calling from?" demanded the voice, crackling and noticeably distorted. "Are you with the police? Don't lie to me. I can trace this line!"

All of my fur was standing on end, but I tried to project an air of confidence across the phone. "I'm calling from my apartment," I said calmly. "I have the money, and I'm willing to negotiate with you."

"Is this validated's owner?"

"No, this is Princess Fernypoo."

"Are you still working with the police?"

"My owner is—but I'm doing this independently. I have the money. Do you want it or not?" The owner of the voice on the other end paused, as if contemplating the validity of me. I was becoming impatient—I was offering his money, no strings attached, and all he could do was throw an impromptu game of twenty questions at me.

"Fine. We'll meet, but it's gotta be nighttime. We'll meet in the Maraquan Ruins, where the castle used to stand with the great broken windows. Bring the money, and I'll bring the Baby. Come unarmed."

The last request of the kidnapper sent ice down my nerves. It immediately signaled to me to do the exact opposite. I swallowed, though, and complied verbally. "You have my honor. Head to there immediately, okay?"

"Okay."

The kidnapper hung up immediately after his agreement, and I let the phone fall to the ground, shaken. I fell back into a leather chair that was behind me, more fainting than falling. My stomach was attempting to attain its knots-badge in boy scouts, and a thin sweat had laid itself over my skin. The briefcase was at my feet, and I looked at it blankly. It was so nondescript and inconspicuous that it almost became ominous, a rectangular black hole at my feet. I kicked it, and it fell to its side—I almost expected the locks to click open, and the money, packed so tightly into the case, to come pouring out.

But the money did nothing of the sort. It stayed in its place, not to disappear and relieve me of the duty of recovering Vali. Swallowing, I sat up in my chair, not taking my eyes off the briefcase. I walked past the suitcase at first and towards the dining room, where the dinner table lay set and expectant. I touched the setting tentatively, and wondered if I would ever see them again. Brushing past the utensils, I pocketed one of the steak knives, and then to contrast the viciousness, picked one of the intensely-realistic plastic flowers from the middle of the dining table. I stuck it behind my ear to appear the innocent maiden, un-attackable in her purity.

I gave a final critical cause as the dining area. It was elaborately furnished, with the premiere china of Maraqua, and with utensils made of an alloy of maracite. The napkins were folded like origami, a process done by the maid that scoured our house on a daily basis. The lights were off, so I was declined the pleasure of viewing the multi-colored crystal chandelier above. The refraction of the water filtered in from the window, and the air conditioning was cool and fresh. Yet every time I scrutinized it, something came up wrong in the décor. Perhaps this color was off, or those plates were out of season—perhaps the setting had now gone out of style and was one for the petty bourgeois. Whatever it was, it struck me every time—something was missing, or something was wrong. I often blamed it on how neither I nor my owner knew feng shui, and the _chi_ in our room was off, for often the unfortunate mystery lay on the metaphysical level, something I couldn't quite touch.

I had to avoid judging the room at the moment, though, and turned my back to the unsatisfactory scene. I took in a draught of air, strode and grabbed the suitcase, and then walked out of the door, locking it behind me.

I hoped that I would be able to come back to that dining room alive, so that I could one day add that missing piece of the nearly-finished puzzle of my living space, elusive and quest-worthy.


	5. Chapter 5

_Author's note: I use a Nietzsche quote improperly in this chapter. For the record, "God is dead, and we have killed him" is meant to be a positive, uplifting quite from Nietzsche's _The Gay Science.

"You'll never believe it," I began, my fangs chattering with happiness. It was night in the Haunted Woods, and my short coat of fur never did much to provide me warmth, even though these were the peak hours for the Esophagor sending me out for snacks.

"I've believed a lot of more ridiculous things than you could ever utter before, and that's a difficult task," said the Brain Tree blandly. No longer would his tone contain out-and-out spite towards me—he had keyed it down to a casual apathy. "In a word, I've believed in socialism."

"God, that sucks BUT—" I began, speaking rapidly, "—but here's the funny thing. You know how the fuzz have been helping Fernypoo search for Vali over here?" Vali turned towards me at the mention of her name. She was playing with the mud and dirt around the Brain Tree's base as if it were sand, stacking it up into a rusted pail. Out of the mold of the pail, she was created primitive castles, poking her fingers into the side of the sculptures to give them windows for inhabitants born from the dirt. "Apparently Fernypoo had a plan of her own. She just _called_ me from the Esophagor's stockpiled phone!"

"Oh?" answered the Brain Tree, most of his attention invested in Vali in the flesh.

"Not, oh, _whoa_!" I corrected, too excited to notice that the Brain Tree had little interest. "I'm going to get my _money_, you understand? Then I'm going to buy my way out of the Esophagor's slavery, and then paint myself back to Spotted!"

"When do you plan on doing that?"

"Tonight. That's why I came." I held out my arms towards Vali, who, seemingly disturbed, moved in closer to the Brain Tree. "Come to Daddy, little lady!"

"Daddy doesn't love you so much," the Brain Tree murmured to Vali, and the Baby Grarl looked up to the Brain Tree loyally. He patted Vali over the head with a branch, giving her an almost endearing look. I raised an eyebrow at the couple, perplexed.

"Hey, hey, wait a second." I moved my finger between the two to indicate both of them, suspicious. "What's going on between you two here? I thought you hated this little tyke over here, Brain Tree. Now you're almost … fatherly."

"What!" The Brain Tree suddenly snapped out of his paternal stupor of staring stupid with love at Vali. The ornery look of the typical Brain Tree reappeared, carved into his bark like initials of split lovers. "Don't be ridiculous, Kacheek."

"Didn't you just say you—"

"Quiet, Kacheek! I'm trying to think."

"Well, while you're thinking, how about you hand over Vali? I need to get to Maraqua, pronto, and that involves a long trip by train 'cross the ocean. The sooner I get scooting, the more time I have to check out my surroundings, and see if I can escape quick if I need to." The Brain Tree looked at me suspiciously, as if I had done something incriminating behind his back.

"Did you confirm that it wasn't a set up? You may be walking into Jetsam-infested waters."

"Don't be paranoid, Brain Tree. This Acara's too wimpy to try anything like that. She probably just wants her sister back, and I just want my money. Now c'mon, little girl," I cooed, motioning towards Vali. She gave a little whining noise in my direction, and then concentrated herself on the Brain Tree, abandoning her makeshift villages. She clung to his bark, looking back at me with a lack of trust. I frowned, and then tried again, this time squatting so I was at Vali's level. This only seemed to cause her more distress, and she cried loudly, pressing herself hard against the Brain Tree.

"She doesn't want to go with you, Kacheek," the Brain Tree said calmly. "Please leave her alone now." I found anger rising to the back of my throat, especially in the face of the easy and cool way the Brain Tree stated his observation.

"Hey, hey, hey! Look, she's not _your_ pet or baby to say what happens to her! I'm thankful and all that you took care of her all this time, 'cause I don't have a permanent home, and I'll pay you back with some of the money I have, but I _gotta_ give her back! This wasn't a permanent deal, this was borrowing her until I got some benefit outta it. Now I've got it—so give her back. She isn't yours, and she isn't mine—and now it's time for her to go _home_." I was practically stomping my foot in my insistence, a stubborn look on my face. The Brain Tree looked back at me with annoyance, the sides of its lips pulled down nearly to its roots. His brain throbbed incessantly, indicating fury.

"She may not be _my_ infant, but she certainly isn't yours—she belongs to you less than she belongs to me. You abandoned her upon me like she was nothing more than a nuisance, and then demand sporadically to have her back when suddenly it's convenient to your budget. If you wanted to use her in this way all along, you should've undertaken her as your own burden. As it stands, it is of my opinion that she is my responsibility—and under my authority, I think you have no qualification to have her back. Come another day, Kacheek. Good _day_."

The Brain Tree seemed satisfied with the point he had made, and swung back a branch, ready to throw it forward. I saw the branch swinging towards my face, growing rapidly in perspective—I ducked, lunged forward, and fell into the dirt, feeling the swish of the air behind me. Vali gave a scream, as I had accidentally rocketed towards her, smashing her mud castles. She darted out of sight, striding behind the Brain Tree—I barley saw her movement, my eyes clouded with mud. Something bent and cracked beneath my stomach, and I heard the Brain Tree roar from above me.

I scrambled to get to my feet, getting ready to run at any second. The Brain Tree was groaning overhead—more mournful and desperate than angry. It didn't seem to be threatening to bonk me over the head any time soon, so I took a moment to look down on what I had landed on. It felt surprisingly soft, yet with a sharpness to it that stabbed me in the belly.

I had to pull back layers of mud to find what I had landed on—and when I revealed its nature, my eyes widened. Beneath my stomach lay a squashed flower—not one of the carnivorous, disturbing flowers of the Haunted Woods but, when I brushed the dirty away, one of astounding beauty. It appeared as one of the flowers I had attempted to nurture in the ground—but they had either died, killed by the soil, or been wiped out by the malevolent Esophagor. This one, however, had been a healthy specimen, with fine petals and a thick stem—now, though, I had stimulated it into the early stages of dying, breaking it from its life source at the stem.

The words were shocked out of me: how had such exotic and gorgeous wildlife eluded me, sitting right next to Vali? My surroundings dissolved around me as I studied the flower, rubbing its petals slowly against my chin although it was soaked in mud. It was a rarity, and by contact I somehow expected to absorb its radiance, absolving me of the sin that colored me Mutant. Even in its death, it retained its wonder, magnificently unmarred by its time on Neopia.

I had little time to appreciate its beauty, though, because the Brain Tree was thundering above me, redirecting his attention towards me.

"What have you done to Vali, Kacheek! What have you done to my flower, Kacheek? What have you _done_ to them?"

Its branches began to fly at me ceaselessly, creating a maze of boughs slapping hard against the ground. I barely managed to navigate out of the gauntlet of its branches, finally darting out from between the arms that threatened to squash me with quite a few cuts and bruises. I didn't dare look back as I darted off, plowing through the brush towards the Esophagor. (In the face of the Brain Tree's wrath, the Esophagor's stomach pangs seemed a safe haven.) I raced away on all fours, my muscles focused on escape while my brain, reasoning out of danger, wondered about that curious flower and how it had flourished.

The cursed Kacheek, with his avoidance of my branch, had sent a fearful Vali stumbling into the depths behind me, on a grim path towards the Beast.

There was a reason the Beast had no formal name. Though there were rumors it was because none had come back to see its face alive and thusly no one could name it properly, it was more than the Beast already had a name, and had had one for millennia. Its name and face were familiar to so many who had slipped by in close shaves, and viewed its ghastly visage.

Its name was Death.

Warnings from an elder often fall onto deaf ears, and in a time of desperation to escape, Vali had burst through the verbal caution tape I laid over the brush behind me. I could only watch her disappear into the tangle of shrubbery, stones and dirt, reaching out a branch to protect her far too late. Almost immediately, I spun around to deliver a severe punishment onto the Kacheek, throwing my branches down at him blindly. Somehow, he managed to escape from the labyrinth of my limbs, leaving me with nothing but a broken flower doused in mud.

My concerns weren't centered on the fate of the flower, though. The real Neopian beauty had just scampered into territory where adventurers rarely, if ever, returned from. Frantically, I called out into the air behind me, unable to twist my trunk far enough to aim my voice directly to the area. No response came back to me but a deathly silence. Death always struck with cunning and quiet, sometimes relieving its victim of life without a scream. For all I knew, Vali was already in its clutches.

My branches were shaking without my willing, and without the aid of a breeze. Though the season wasn't right, I felt sap welling in the back of my eyes, as if my trembling had stirred the sap against gravity. I pushed it back as best I could, but then it just began dribbling from my pores, throwing an unacceptable sweetness in the air. My eyes fell to the flower buried in the mud, another casualty of the moment. I picked up its corpse and stared at it blankly, the sap flowing freely.

Then, I began to bellow. I could not express emotion quietly for long—it involuntarily found its way to my throat in roars of grief that sent a shroud over the Haunted Woods. The weather seemed to shift to suit my mood, thunderheads bubbling over the sky and striping the dark sky with lightning. At that moment, I hoped that those signs from heaven would strike my highest branches and scorch me like the dead trees around me—lifeless and leafless. I goaded the heavens to release their wrath on me, howling curses up at the clouds. "God is dead!" I taunted loudly. "And I have killed him!"

But the storm refused to grant my self-destructive wish. Instead, it subsided in a time, giving way to a light rain of deepening depression. I tried to sleep—tried to cut out the world and substitute it for the world of cotton candy and delusions, but as a tree, insomnia was a common plague. I stayed up, wide-eyed, throughout the night, waiting for Edna, waiting for somebody but that wretched Kacheek to soothe my pain. Mostly, though, I waited for a signal from behind me—even that of Death, proclaiming its latest catch, so that I may at least have closure.

Just as I was nodding off, however, I heard a shriek. Footsteps came from behind me, frantic footsteps, and in the immediate distance from these footsteps came a hollow sound, one that removed the core and soul of anything pursued by it. I turned around as best I could to see a figure racing towards me, slowing becoming larger in perspective; behind it loomed Death, black and faceless, with only a gaping maw to suck in its prey.

Though the form racing against death was ashen and at first unrecognizable, I nearly choked (or would have, if I had a conventional digestive system) to see that it was Vali, tears streaming down her weeping face. I reached out instinctively, grasping her as soon as she was close enough from the clutches of the Beast, and swung her around to deposit her in front of me. The Beast screamed with rage at me once again denying it its catch, and sunk its claws deep into the criss-crossed, scarred back of my trunk, swiping its claws a few more times until it had satisfied its anger and then retreated.

I barely noticed the pain in comparison to the shock and elation of seeing Vali again. In the hours she had been missing, I had all but distinguished hope of seeing her again. Yet in minutes that hope returned and was fulfilled, even seeing her bruised and shaken. I scooped her up off of the ground, still sticky with sap, and threw her up into the air, almost finding a laugh at my lips.

Her demeanor lightened quickly. Though children are prone to deep scarring at early ages, as long as they are consoled immediately following and never exposed to such horrors again, such wounding traumas are easily and quickly absolvable. Within minutes, a smile was finding its way back onto Vali despite her physical bruising, and she was screaming and giggling with as much alacrity as she ever had once ten minutes had passed.

She opted to play the game of licking the sap off of my bark, apparently finding it appeasing. Once she had licked her fill, she sidled up against my tree trunk with a swollen belly and rested her chin on her gut, sighing contentedly. Internally, I wished I could have so easily soothed—my nerves still stood on end and my mind reeled with the alternate endings to the drama, unable to calm my mind. I was glad when Vali drifted off into a dream world, though envious, for then I could privately express all of my anxiety in pained facial expressions.

Beneath Vali's taloned feet, sunken into mud, I noticed the crumpled corpse of the flower where I had dropped it. I dipped my branches into the mud to excavate it, lifting it from the ground. It seemed now to be saturated in mud, but the mud had dried slightly and was now cracking off in flakes. I sympathized with the flower—something so pure and precious cracked in the middle, perverted by the wear of the world. It was nearing death, and already its delicate, idealistic petals wilted in my hands. Yet somewhere beneath the earth, or deep within it, a portion of its roots still existed—perhaps, someday in the future, they'd be able to regenerate: to be something stronger and more glorious than it was in its rebirth.

I was demoted at the National Neopian. I almost laughed with joy.

There was a rigid hierarchy in the National Neopian. You started as an intern—then a mail boy—then a processing boy—then a gate boy—then finally, a teller, after your so-called 'people skills' had been developed with your nose buried in paperwork. I had labored hard to ascend the ladder of the Neopian, putting in extra hours to impress unfriendly bosses. I had been ambitious back then, striving for the carrot at the end of the stick. But now I had stepped back to see in perspective, and found myself laughing. I had been blindfolded for so long, groping out for that alleged carrot that was just beyond my grasps. With nothing covering my eyes, I saw the stupidity of my struggle: there had been no carrot after all. It was all stick, whipping me brutally into line on the rear end.

So I let my performance slip. I insulted clients with the level I felt they deserved to be insulted, depending upon how stuck-up they were. Some I were kind to, but as it turned out, most of my clients with the most money and influence were also the biggest pieces of dung. After treating them to a day's worth of insult (not nearly enough to equal what they deserved), my manager started getting troubling phone calls from angry, snotty clients. He confronted me about it with more irritation at my existence than normal.

"Max," Lester said as evenly as possible given his frustration. He touched a finger to his temple as if to calm his chi. "Have you been insulting clients?"

"It's a definite possibility," I said casually. I was on lunch break, and I leaned back in my chair, propping my feet up in relaxation on the table. I had just finished a meal of salad, carrots and broccoli, and my body had never felt better. "Which clients are you talking about now?" I tapped my forehead mockingly, and whispered in a juvenile tone. "There's a lot to remember!"

Lester tried to keep his cool, but his golden skin was beginning to visibly rouge. He turned to his clipboard, following a trail of his finger down a list. "Well, let's see … Mr. Potato, Mr. Fleshlicking, Ms. Bebe, Ms. Uilikee for the _second_ offense, Mr. Canara …."

"Oh, _right._ _Those_ jagoffs," I said, bouncing my finger on my lip as if remembering. I shrugged. "Oh well. They probably deserved it at the time."

"That's a moot point, Max," Lester said harshly. "They're _customers_, and they're meant to be treated with dignity. 'The customer is always right'—an old slogan, and perhaps only for retail, but if you're not careful, that's where you're going to end up, Max."

"Look, Lester, I'm not going to kiss the butt of everybody with a Mega Millionaire-Platinum account. Just because their account is gilded doesn't made their manners any less crude. What sort of message are we sending these jerks by doing that, and society as well—that if you've got a silver spoon shoved in your mouth—and maybe some other places—that you'll get by scot-free with any breach of common courtesy? Heck no. I'm sick of it." I said it plainly and factually, with little emotion behind it as if it were generated from pure logic. Lester was fuming.

"Frankly, Max, I don't give a rat dung what you think of how the wealthy should be treated. They should at least receive the same etiquette you would give to someone with a Junior Saver account—maybe more, to ensure further business."

"Heck, I'd rather we'd have this bank full up with Junior Savers. They don't have some false impression of themselves as some sort of sparkling demigod."

"Max, you can't talk about our customers that way!"

"Oh yeah? Well, I think I just did."

This was about where Lester gave me my demotion, lowered my salary, and gave me a stern lecture on the treatment of customers. I listened to him, amused, and once he stormed out of the lunchroom, casually walked to the staff refrigerator, pulled out the sandwich marked "Lester—DO NOT TOUCH" and began a second course of my midday meal.

The next day, I was turned to guard duty. This basically involved sitting boring hours in front of a desk that contained six different buttons for six different doors. Whenever a shady character appeared at one of the doors, the guard's task was to push the button for the corresponding door and alert the manager. 'Shady' was a subjective term, so I never liked the job very much. It involved color and species profiling, and I felt dirty whenever I pushed a button to slam down the gates. Often, it was just some poor and shoddily dressed Jetsam who's owner couldn't afford a decent meal but wanted to start saving—but he was made to be interrogated anyway, because of the guard's prejudice decision.

Since the job made me uncomfortable, I decided to perform poorly. I had already begun to define my own dress code—plain colored ties were replaced with something flamboyant and patterned, and I began to buy novelty suits in powder blue and checkers, preferring them to boring black—and now my task lay in neglecting what I was assigned to do. I let striped-shirted Techos and masked Scorchios pass the gates undetected while I drank diet soda and played solitaire underneath the desk.

Finally, though, trouble came through the doors of the National Neopian. I unwisely and intentionally disregarded a Usul dressed in a green body suit entering the doors—criminal attire I had continuously been warned against so long ago in training. I watched almost complacently as the sinister Usul approached a teller and removed a weapon from his pocket, discreetly pointing it at the teller. The teller went ashen, gave a stupid shout, which only spurred the Usul to spin around and begin flailing his weapon around with an almost comical (to me) viciousness. Neopets dove to the ground, protecting their owners, and I was left the only one in the room, besides assumedly the Usul under his disguise, smiling.

The Usul turned back to the teller, demanding of him a certain extra ordinate sum of money. The teller began frantically compiling these Neopoints, the Usul occasionally swinging his gun around the building to make his point. Everything was deathly silent. I watched on the scene for a moment, bemused, and then lifted my bulk from my swivel seat.

The Usul didn't notice I had risen until I was directly behind him. Startled, the Usul shoved his weapon in my face, throwing it around in a mockery of violence.

"Don't you move a hair, fatty, or I'll shoot!" shouted the Usul. I could see his eyes glare from underneath the slits that served for his sight.

"Are you threatening me?" I asked, cocking my head quizzically.

"What do you mean, 'am I threatening you?' You stupid too, Skeith? Of course I'm threatening you!" The Usul practically pushed the weapon into my chest, and the crowd, watching, gave a gasp. I barely rocked backwards on impact—the Usul, unarmed, would be astoundingly weak.

"That's kind of cute, you know," I said condescendingly.

"Cute, huh? Well this bag of cute is gonna make you regret the last few minutes of your life!" challenged the Usul, and made a motion as if he was lunging at me. I knew he wouldn't follow through completely, so I dodged the attack, considered responding snarkily then didn't, and then proceeded to deliver a solid punch to the Usul's face.

It wasn't a knock out—the Usul stumbled backwards, trying to regain his footing—but my next punch to the stomach managed to force him to curl over and drop his weapon. Putting my foot over the weapon and sliding it towards me, I grabbed the hunched-over Usul by the back of his costume and flipped him over completely head first, making him land in stunned shock on his back. He gave a little breath of air, and a sigh, and then his eyes closed beneath his mask. I put a foot over his chest triumphantly for a moment, and then backed down, picking up the weapon. Calmly, I walked to the terrorized teller and handed him the gun, smiling.

"Here. I think you might need this for future."

The crowd had watched in stunned silence the whole time, the criminal now knocked out and incapacitated on the ground. They continued to watch me without a word as I headed over to the front desk and collected my things from it spontaneously, draping my suit coat around my shoulders. I shut my briefcase with a snap, a sort of complacency to my movements, and began to head for the door without additional comment.

Somebody stopped me on the way, grasping my elbow firmly. I turned around in surprise, wondering if the Usul had regained his consciousness already. But no—in the background, the Usul was still sprawled out on the floor, security guards closing in on him and chattering back and forth on their walkie-talkies. The Neopet that had grabbed me was Lester, a look of utter astonishment on his face. The muscles were so lax from this shock that I feared, for a moment, his countenance would come apart and fall to the ground in a pile of features.

"M-max," he managed to stutter out, "_what_ the heck was that?"

"My two weeks notice, Lester," I announced coolly. "Except I'm leaving today."

I wrested my arm from his grip, and strode out the door with visible confidence that seemed to flow from every muscle. I left behind my job with no sense of remorse and with loose ends, for myself, all neatly tied, the only strings frayed the ones I didn't care for. Now, free of the yoke of a job, I could turn my face to the sunlight and live and earn Neopoints the way the conventional Neopian did:

Relaxation, games, and treasure-hunting.

When, in the first ten minutes the kidnapper didn't arrive, my stomach was performing flip-flops in an Olympic fashion. I could only speculate what his tardiness meant—perhaps he—for the voice sounded masculine—would come up from behind, slip something lethal into my back, and take the money without returning his promise. I was in a remote area of Neopia, only the passing bum or drifter crossing my path, and if I was attacked, I would have no one to answer my screams. As I thought about it, I wasn't even sure if I could strike out with the knife I brought in defense—the prospect of attacking another, even for my safety, was a chilling thought.

But ten minutes turned into twenty, and then thirty, then an hour. I was ready to leave at this point, afraid to be affronted by any passing shady Jetsams or Flotsams as to what I was doing, a respectable Neopet standing alone in the Ruins, and be mugged or something worse. Something, though, raced towards me in the distant, panting heavily. Like all land-dwelling Maraquan tourists, he carried a jug of potion at his side and took periodic swigs from it. As a resident, I had taken a more potent potion that made me completely able to breathe water. Or maybe this ability to live underwater was derived from the lab ray—either way, living in Maraqua was a breeze.

The figure was undefined as to what species it was, as it was wearing a black garb that covered its whole body. From what I could decipher from the voice, however, it was probably a male. I wondered if this was the kidnapper, and if so, where Vali was. I stood my ground, keeping my hand close to the pocket where I kept the knife.

"Do you have Validated?" I demanded, stepping forward insistently. The cloaked figure gave a snarl, which repelled me backwards, and then spoke.

"Yes, yes, I have Vali." Its voice was clearly male, and I tried to mentally record the voice in my mind to report it to the authorities if necessary. He seemed to be rushing, as if nervous. "But I don't have her _with_ me."

I backed off slightly, holding tighter to the briefcase. "What do you mean? Our agreement was that you bring her here."

"Well, there were some … _complications_—"

"If she's not alive, you'll see your life behind bars, crook!" Outbursts were atypical of my lady-like manners, but my nerves were on edge, and not a thing to be tampered with. I was about to lunge at him when he took an intimidating step forward, effectively sedating him.

"Don't talk to me like that! I'll get you your girl—give me the cash now, though, upfront. I'll get you your little baby later."

"How can I even know I'm not paying you for someone who's not even existing anymore?" The thought made tears bud in my eyes, shaking me to the core. The cloaked figure sighed loudly.

"Look, I don't have any pictures to anything to ensure you of her safety—I don't have a camera—but you've gotta trust me on this. I've got no interest in hurting Vali—she's a nice kid and all. I just couldn't get here; like I said, there was some complications."

"If I find she's not alive … I'll have you arrested for so long …."

"Jeez, settle down! She's fine, she's fine! If you keep bugging me like this, though, with your neurotic little comments …"

"_I'm_ neurotic! You're the one who stole my sister!"

"Touché." He held up his hands, as if defeated. "Well, I can't give you much else right now except to relieve you of this suitcase." He said it so fast that it took me a moment to register what he meant, and in that moment he made a dive for the suitcase. Instinctively, I pulled it back, and he wiped out into the coral overgrowing the area, tearing his costume. I shrieked, and then turned around, reaching forward to pull the top of his costume off of his head and reveal his identity.

Surprisingly, it was no one I had ever seen. (I figured the job had been done by someone close to me, perhaps in an attempt to exact revenge.) I grimaced as I saw that it was a Mutant Kacheek, reeling back slightly from the sight of its throbbing brain. I could never stand Mutants, and made sure to never even make acquaintances with their person. Once, for a day, the lab ray had rendered me a Mutant, and I had stayed in my bedroom all day, sobbing. My owner had tried to enter with Hot Chocolate and Marshmallows, but I would not have kindness from the person who had caused me to become hideous. I could find no sympathy in that body, and much to my relief, I was turned to a Rainbow Acara the next day, and could stride the streets against with pride. Still, I gave my owner the cold shoulder the rest of that week to make it clear that I would not tolerate such treatment.

After that occurrence, though, I went up to the first plain pet I saw, strolling out with its owner. It was a Yellow Techo—an astoundingly common pet, but one that I had also seen consistently with its owner over a period of three years. They would play a game of ball in Neopian Square, and they ended up living in some of the poorer apartments of Maraqua. From what I could gather from the owner's tatty clothes and the Techo's often disheveled appearance, they hadn't the Neopoints to paint the Techo, let alone feed themselves free of the Soup Faerie. They made the trek to the gigantic soup pot at the Marketplace every day for a meal at noon.

One day, when I saw the Techo alone, going to fish for food with a fishing pole that looked as if it had seen better days. I approached him cautiously, hoping not to catch fleas. (I didn't have my Moltenore with me, and besides, it already had a Mootix of its own.) Politely but directly, I asked him why his owner kept him and didn't opt for getting a better pet in the Pound. (Besides, I had though privately, even a plain Peophin or Yurble is better than a Techo.)

He hadn't taken offense and instead had smiled, a strangely sympathetic and pitying smile that insulted me without trying. With infinite patience, he explained that his owner had never had any desire to adopt another Pet, even if they had had more Neopoints to support a second.

"But isn't your owner saving for a Paint Brush or something?" I demanded, eager to know. "Or a morphing potion? Maybe even some Chia Flour to throw at you."

The Techo seemed amused, and chuckled to himself. "Oh, Craig and I"—unlike most Neopets, he referred to his owner by his actual name—"have no need for fancy stuff like that."

"You're kidding me," I said, just barely preventing my jaw from dropping. He shook his head, smiling calmly. Light refracted onto his face through the water—I noticed he had a scruffy wreath of something seaweed-like around his neck to help him breathe. It was the poor man's way of adapting to Maraqua. On his necklace, however, there was curiously beautiful flowers running its length, blooming seemingly without root.

"Nope. We live like we do, and we're comfortable with it. It doesn't matter that I'm just a Yellow Techo. Craig could save the money, but he likes me as I am. Even if something were to come along to change me, like a Faerie Paint Brush, he'd probably keep me just like this." He held out his arms to indicate this was all he had to offer, and shrugged. "We're used to it—comfortable with it. And we didn't even have to ignore what we wanted."

At this point, I thanked him, still baffled, and tried to press some Neopoints into his hands for thanks. He brushed them away, and it was an almost generous gesture despite his poverty.

"Thanks, Princess," he said kindly, "but you need them more than me."

His words were contradictory and stupid, and he didn't apologize or correct himself. (Perhaps he had been too poor for Neoschool as well.) Yet somehow I felt he knew exactly what he meant as he walked to the Underwater fishing hole, whistling a tune that sent sparks of contentment into the water.

Even a day as a Mutant, I couldn't quite comprehend what the Techo's words had meant. I sometimes thought about them at night, lying in bed, anticipating in fear what might come the next day from the Lab Ray. But nothing bad ever endured for more than one day, and by some streak of luck I continued my life as an Acara, though various colors. To the world, my excuse was that I had enough money to pay for a new Paint Brush every day if I pleased—and to some extent this was true. My owner, however, refused to spend money on 'superfluous luxuries' when she could get free results from the Lab Ray.

All of this flashed through my mind at seeing the Mutant Kacheek. He regained his footing, gave a startled look back at me, and then thrust into the air and began swimming off furiously, keeping low to the ocean floor. He took nothing with him but a few remains of his cloak, but I, grabbing the suitcase first to protect the money, plunged after him, weighed and slowed down by the Neopoints.

At first I assumed I would have the upperhand, as I was a resident of the area. I pursued him through a forest of tangled seaweed and burst through field of coral, but eventually he slipped through my grasps by way of the Ruins, darting into crumbled architecture that threatened to yield at my weight. Finally, I turned away and considered him lost, frustrated and tired, my arms aching from lugging around the suitcase.

I retreated back to my apartment complex, huffily throwing the Neopoints on the dining room table when I got there. I rushed to my bedroom to give my pillow a quick beating, waking up my Moltenore on the other side of the room. When he tried to comfort me, I pushed him away moodily and he gave a little yelp of insult, turning to his Mootix to play with.

After letting loose a few tears and angrily clawing at my bed sheets (no need for concern—though they were fine silk, we had plenty more in the linen closet), I turned to the telephone on my bedstand and called the police number I was instructed to dial if I had gotten any tips on the kidnapper. Though he had gotten away from my grasp, perhaps the police would be able to right this folly.


	6. Chapter 6

Princess was fast, but her years of preening had apparently left her not quite as fit as a Kacheek whose primary focus in life was running—literally—around Neopia to find the Esophagor a morsel. I escaped her with ease once I dove into one of the old, broken constructs of Maraqua, looking like some sort of tomb. The building was intricate, and filled with rotting rooms, and I hid in one until I figured I had lost her. She wouldn't pursue me long, I assumed, while dragging along that suitcase, though I should've been smart enough to grab that thing myself.

Frustrated and having trouble breathing (I had broken the vial containing my oxygen potion), I swam out of the building and surfaced as fast as I could, disregarding the possibility of the bends. I sucked in as much air as possible as I broke to air, and then, treading water, looked around for any land. As it happened, I could see Mystery Island in the distance, and began swimming in that direction, ignoring the possibility of Jetsam attacks.

I gasped as I came to shore, spitting out any excess water in my mouth. I found the first boat back to the Haunted Woods and paid for a ticket. We took off from the harbor an hour later, and I was back in the Haunted Woods before morning began to rise. With the world still covered in darkness, I stumbled back to my lean-to alongside the Esophagor and fell into a dreamless sleep, practically unconscious.

The next morning, I awakened to a Wood strangely quiet. Normally, I woke up to the roars of the Esophagor demanding his breakfast at the crack of dawn, and I would've given anything to wake up to some peace and quiet—but now that I had, I was creeped out and suspicious. Cautiously, I walked down to where the Esophagor normally bellowed at me from his hole in the ground, my nerves on end to prepare for a sneak attack.

Low moans came from the pit that the Esophagor occasionally retreated into like a turtle. I poked my head over the edge of it, preparing myself to draw back from the rim at any moment. "'Sophagor?" I inquired into the indent in the ground, my ears perked.

"Ooooooooooooooh … myyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy stoooooooooooooooomaaaaaaaaaaaaaach …."

"Do you have, uh, Bloaty Belly?" The idea that the Esophagor, a monster of unknown origin, would get a Neopets disease was a hilarious concept to me, and if it were true, I promised myself to stifle my laughter. And it was—the Esophagor rose from its pit and nodded slowly, its usually angry holes-for-eyes shaped to look saddened and pained.

"Yesssssssssssssssss … Iiiiiiiiiiiiiii geeeeeeeeet thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis soooooooooooooooooooometiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimessssssssssssssssss … aaaaaaaaaaaaaafterrrrrrrrrrrrr a riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiich meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeal …."

"So you want me to get you Flat-u-less Tablets or something?"

"Yeeeeeesssssssssss."

"I'll be gone a long time for those, you know. They don't have those lying around in the Haunted Woods—I'm gonna have to go to Neopian Central, to the pharmacy."

"Juuuuuuuuuuuuuussssssssssst gooooooooooooo …. Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiii caaaaaaaaaaaaaaannoooooooooooot beeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaar thiiiiiiiiiiiiiis aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagonyyyyyyyyyyy!"

I muttered something righteous under my breath of 'serving him right,' and then agreed to undertake the quest. (I really had no other choice, unless I wanted to be a surrogate Flat-u-less Tablet to the Esophagor.) I headed north, glad that I wouldn't have to take any boats or airplanes to get to Neopia Central—transportation that involved movement that wasn't my own often left me nauseous.

Neopia Central was bustling by the time I arrived, but the pharmacy, as usual, was not quite as busy as, say, the Weapons Store or the Food Shop. I managed to pocket some Flat-u-less Tablets without a huge ruckus, slipping out of the store without paying. (I had no choice—the Esophagor, in all of his agony, had failed to supply me with any Neopoints.) I planned to also escape back to the Haunted Woods without ruckus, but my silent morning had seemed to foreshadow something sinister.

I was crossing into the Bazaar for a midmorning snack of pizza when trouble arrived. I saw some cops along the way, patrolling passerbys and occasionally stopping them for a casual round of questioning. Cops—mostly Yurbles, Shoyrus, Chias and other benevolent species—always set my nerves on edge, even before I had become a delinquent Mutant Kacheek. Their purported work for the public's good always seemed to serve their own needs selfishly, and I couldn't help but be distasteful towards that kind of behavior.

When the cops began to casually walk towards me (or at least look casual—I assumed that his flippancy was for effect), I quickened my pace, and they sped up theirs to match mine—or at least to overtake me. Before I knew what was happening, the cop was confronting me from the front, and my heart was thundering inside my chest, beating chaotically like the hooves of a pack of Unis pursued by Lupes.

"How're you doing today, Mr. Kacheek?" asked the Chia policeman formally, nodding to me politely. I swallowed, my mouth dry. I tried to reassure myself that they would have no reason to arrest me—they had no warrant to justify an arrest.

"O-okay," I stammered. I mentally slapped myself—to be convincingly innocent, I would have to keep my voice steady and unfettered. This was easier said than done.

"Whatcha got in your paw there, Mr. Kacheek?" inquired the Chia, looking closely at the Flat-u-less Tablets in my hand. I tried to hide them behind my back on impulse, but they were already seen—reluctantly, I brought them forward again, blushing to brush off my sudden attack of sneakiness as embarrassment.

"Uh, well, just some medicine for my Bloaty Belly …" As if on cue, I puffed out my belly as far as I could, nearly sucking all of the air out of my lungs. I was gambling on the policeman not talking to me much longer, as I could barely breathe in that position.

"Can I see it, Mr. Kacheek?"

Resisting the police was a dangerous thing, so although the item was stolen, I bit my reluctance back and handed it to the Chia. He looked over it closely, as if just inspecting it would give some idea as to where it came from. Finally, he looked up at me, tabbing the box with a finger thoughtfully.

"You have a receipt I can see for this, Mr. Kacheek?"

My stomach tied itself into knots that made it difficult for me to fake Bloaty Belly anymore. Sweat trickled down visibly from my brain, and I smiled sheepishly, trying to make sure my fangs were sticking out to imply a sort of subtle threat.

"Well, uh, you see about that …"

That was about when I turned tail and darted for the side of the Bazaar, which was ringed by heavy shrubbery. This wasn't about to discourage the Chia, who didn't pursue me immediately but instead called back-up on his walkie-talkie. While I was struggling in a swimming motion through the brush, the Chia came after me. Apparently he had navigated this underbrush before, because he moved through it with an ease of a Maraquan pet through water, positioning himself in front of me in what seemed like seconds. I tried dodging to the side to avoid his grasp, but I got caught on in a briar patch.

While I was screaming in agony, picking out the long barbs in my arms with my teeth and weeping to myself, the Chia did me the service of pulling my wrists behind my back and locking them together, all the while reciting my Miranda rights. (He was multi-talented in this respect, but I was unimpressed.) To further illustrate how screwed I was, his back-up arrived and surrounded me in a tight, imprisoning circle, the four of them helping the Chia carry me back to the police station.

While I had been engaging in crookery for the Esophagor for quite some time now, I wasn't familiar with the police force beyond sight-encounters. Being taken to the police station was much more complex ordeal, involving so many unnecessary details, formalities and ugly, hateful looks from policemen that I was almost relieved when they escorted me gruffly to my cell. Most condemning was the pawprinting process, wherein they took a big pad of ink, pressed my paw into it, and then pressed my ink-laden paw onto a piece of paper with all of my identification which they told me would go in a file to investigate for future crimes.

The cell was mostly dark (the only light came from outside, so the brightness of the room varied with the phase of the day, and made it impossible to take midday naps) and dry, and I had to share it with two other Neopets. They both looked far more suspicious than I (one was a Wocky with patches of fur missing and a scar spanning his right eye, while the other was a world-weary Tonu with a chip of his horn and shoulder) and I was substantially afraid of them, not allowing myself sleep until I assured myself both of them were knocked out with weariness. They played assorted card games on the dusty floor of the cell when the guard wasn't looking, and discussed schemes to escape between themselves, all the while shooting dirty looks at me. Money traded hands between them (where they got the Neopoints from, I'd never know) and both of them were eventually bailed for large sums.

A bail, though, was a luxury at the jail—I wasn't afforded one. The police claimed they had some 'questioning' they had to perform on me, and as such needed me in custody without opportunity to escape. Their questioning didn't commence until about a week later, and in those days I twiddled my thumbs and played with the prison food, too anxious to eat whole meals. They were barely meals anyway—mostly, it was just tidbits of omelette to sop up some onion and leek soup.

'Questioning' or 'interrogating' as they sometimes called it, I reflected after it began, should be called what it is: 'terrorizing.' I came in to the process with an open mind, willing to see what it was like, and what they planned on asking. They led me into a room with a big mirror along the side, a table towards the middle, and two chairs at the table, opposing each other. There were lights overhead, but the police had opted to on only one light that hung like an ominous Korbat over my head. It shed down accusatory light at me, finger-pointing with its rays.

They decided to pit me against a Kougra and a Grarrl for questioning—and unlike Vali, this Grarrl was full-grown and male, with a sharp set of carnivorous teeth. My prey instincts flared up in face of the two predators, high above me in the food chain. They were dressed in shirts with no ties, shirts that were slightly opened at the top to reveal a shred of the musculature beneath. They looked sweaty and angry, and it was all I could do to not pee myself in apprehension.

They asked questions in a rapid-fire procession, so quick that I barely had time to register what they were asking and what information I should provide them. My mind began reeling, and whenever I failed to answer a question in the time they deemed appropriate, they bared their teeth, got in my face, and asked if I was trying to hide something. Sometimes I was, and on those occasions I cowered backwards, not offering a follow-up response or a plea.

At first, they asked questions about where I was living, and what I did for an occupation. They asked general, run-of-the-mill questions in a casual fashion. Then, suddenly, their tones would shift, their questions would turn to the subject of Vali, and every strand of my fur would stand on end. That little Acara, Fernypoo, must've turned in a description of me to the police, and the police were probably stopping Mutant Kacheeks all day. I wondered if I had any comrades in alternate rooms identical to mine, being blasted with questions that baffled and confused them until they admitted their faulty guilt.

I managed to hold out for a few weeks more, feeding them a string of lies that I would record later and memorize to keep them consistent. But my resolve was cracking: they wanted answers, and they were willing to squeeze them out of me—and probably others—any way they could. I knew the answers to all of their questions, but if I gave them what they wanted, I'd either condemn myself or the Brain Tree—two figures I had no desire to see incarcerated or worse.

Eventually, though, I weakened under their inquiry, having been snarled and snapped at one too many times. I was afraid that they would turn to the path of torture, as I had heard these happenings in rumors that flittered through the ears of the residents of the Haunted Woods. I started giving away the story in snippets, slowly feeding them the flesh they desired with their teeth made for hunting. Once I had given them a shred of what they wanted, though, it was like giving your arm to a Werelupe to satisfy their craving—they just wanted more information, and held me in that mental torture chamber for far longer hours than I imagined was legal. But I was in a house of the law, and everything that happened there went inconspicuously under the radar of fair treatment and legality. It was a free market of exploitation.

Finally, I let the big one slip: that I, indeed, had kidnapped Vali. I softened this blow, though, with claiming that it had been the Brain Tree's idea, that it had bullied me into doing the crime (showing scratches and bruises that were instead from the Esophagor as 'evidence'), and that it currently kept Vali in his possession, and God knows what it was doing with her.

Lies, perhaps, but lies necessary to keep myself from being in the slammer—the Brain Tree was known for sending Neopets off on missions with questionable legality, forcing them to commit to them through the same tactics that the Grarrl and Kougra sucked information out of me. Also, I couldn't fathom how the police could punish a _tree_ of all things. With me, it was obvious—they'd keep me in the jail to rot until they deemed my time was up, or I had behaved nicely for three-fourths of my term. The Brain Tree was planted in place. They certainly couldn't relocate him to a jail, and the police were probably too afraid to get close to him to ask for a fine—even if they did, the Brain Tree carried no cash.

It took them a while to be satisfied with the information I gave them—they investigated every little detail, grilling me on the specifics, and I had to scribble down notes to myself on pieces of napkin to keep my story straight. Before questioning every day (which was really unpredictable, as sometimes they seized me to go there from the depths of my sleep), I would pick out the pieces of paper from the wrinkles in my brain, which is where I kept them for safekeeping, and read over my story, elaborate and detailed as they forced me to make it.

After I was fairly certain that their extended keep of me without bail was illegal (I was given some books on the law during free time, to read for pleasure), they let me loose without warning and without further comment. They—the Grarrl and the Kougra who had questioned me, and now accompanied me to the door--didn't even threaten me as they ushered me out the door, their faces stony and without emotion. For two Neopets who I had seen so consistently throughout my time there, I almost felt sad leaving them, even if they had been abusive and derogatory. Though I knew they had kept me as an unwilling captive, and treated me like dung, I had grown an affection for them one way or another, if only by virtue of sharing an experience.

In that respect, I thought it wrong to leave them without some parting words. As they tried to cast me off towards the Haunted Woods, I turned around and patted both of them on the shoulder. They immediately tensed up, as if I had pulled out a gun, looked at each other with confusion, and then looked back at me, befuddled. I smiled at them broadly.

"Well, I guess I'll see you around, guys."

They had no reply to that but a steady stare from both, the Kougra's mouth slightly ajar.

Beaming, I turned around to face the Haunted Woods. My smile quickly faded from my mouth as I remembered what lay within those Woods: a life marked by slavery, shackled to the Esophagor by a curse and its gluttony. I shivered—a coldness seemed to emit from the darkened trees, the sun seeming reluctant to shed its rays on the Woods. I turned back to the police station as if for support from the Kougra and Grarrl, but they had disappeared. I turned back to my path—it was an under-traveled one, with many pawprints veering off last second around the edges of the Woods. My destination, however, was deep inside the Woods, whether I liked it or not. That was where my home was, for the time being, until I could reach for higher things, things still out of the reach of a simple Mutant.

I trudged into the tangleweeds that smothered the trunks of the trees in the Woods, feeling a zooful of bugs brushing past me as I hacked my way through an overgrown pathway. When the Haunted Woods had been new, this path was well-worn and walked on by Neopets of all types—now, with more exciting lands available, like Maraqua and Meridell, the spooky comforts of the Haunted Woods had become obsolete. I wondered if those of the Virupet Space Station found the same social apathy directed towards them, the intricate gears of their home corrupting with neglected rust.

Soon, it became dark, though it was always dark in the Haunted Woods—though many of the trees had been reduced to skeletons, they were packed so tightly together that the canopy of their branches blocked out sunlight or moonlight to allow nocturnal creatures to roam whenever they pleased. My eyes adjusted to this lighting, glowing red like a flashlight covered in cellophane. I knew my way there, and somehow I felt comfortable amongst the thick and threatening brush, almost as if I belonged there. I resisted the feeling, quietly appalled, and forged ahead.

I'd estimate I was about half of my way to the Esophagor before I came across the flower. It was in a clearing I didn't remember from the few times I had traveled that path—perhaps lightning had demolished a few trees, and left this makeshift meadow in its wake. It wasn't the sudden dousing of moonlight that surprised me, though—it was the flower in the center of it all, a massive organism with a stem as big as a small tree trunk. It appeared like a sunflower, but with a red bloom at the top of it. Unlike plants native to the Haunted Woods, it wasn't gnarled, sickly, or fearsome-looking; in fact, under the platinum-lining of moonshine, it was the epitome of beauty, slowly unfolding its petals to the silver sunlight.

I approached it reverently, as if it were some sort of idle. I crouched low to the ground, arching my head upwards and practically crawling towards it cautiously. It was fanning itself wonderfully in front of the moon, and although I knew no plants that looked like this flower were nocturnal, all my common knowledge of plant life dissolved in the face of its vivacity. I didn't seek to harvest it—just to touch it would be enough, to place my paws against the silken petals of an immaculate being. Perhaps some of its brilliance would rub off on me, and I would be cured of this horrid curse—by pure association I would be absolved of my sins …

I wasn't allowed to get closer, though, without consequence. Without warning, the flower seemed to unzip itself down the middle, splitting the flower into two halves—two halves of a jaw, lined with razor-like teeth. It suddenly moved, as if the stem were an agile, muscular neck, and turned that horrible maw towards me. I was too shocked by the sudden transformation of my momentary god into a demon, my mouth slightly ajar and noiseless. The terrible beast gave an unearthly shriek, and lunged for me, saliva dripping from what passed for lips.

Thankfully for my pathetic paralyzed self, the beast stopped halfway in front of me, its mouth still side open. It pulled back suddenly, and seemed to cock its head in question. It made a little gurgling noise of inquiry, and then held out its petals as if in reception of me, their green, leathery perfection contrasting strangely to the monstrosity that was its flower. I perceived that it was welcoming me now, altering my status from dinner to guest in a matter of moments. It seemed genuinely kind, and it gave little cooing noises and seemed playful.

No matter its personality, though, I could not overcome its appearance. My shock turned to repulsion, and I screamed though no longer afraid. I darted underneath the flower, underneath its gargoyle-like shadow, and to the other side of the Woods, stretching my little feet fast to carry me great distances quickly. I was nearly three-quarters of the way to the Esophagor when I heard the moans of the flower—can I even call it that?—from far away, like the howling of a lone wolf on a moonless night. I turned my ears off to the melancholy melody, and continued towards the Esophagor, preferring its abuse and howls to the soul-shaking hollowness of the flower's.

The days passed by blissfully. I would have never imagined myself calling the passage of days anything glorious—before Vali arrived, I spent them heckling passing Neopets to complete my tasks, or reluctantly supplying Edna with needed spell material for knowledge of the outside world. With Vali, though, I no longer chafed for a scant Neopet to bring me information that things existed outside of me to ease the pain of loneliness, of being planted in a solitary, antisocial space. Vali provided me with companionship and an insight into her tiny world, seen within her head.

She was growing—I wasn't sure if this was typical. I assumed Paint Brushes lasted forever, and Vali would remain the innocent, wide-eyed child I weaned on my sap and Ghostkersandwiches. But she was increasing in size, and darkening in color, and beginning to lose teeth to make way for canines formidable enough to intimidate me. Yet she was still as lighthearted as ever, building enormous structures in the mud around me and then parading around them like a monster, stomping on them with beastly cries beneath her talon-like feet.

I stopped participating as frequently in her games, as she no longer relied on me for a playmate. She had learned ways to entertain herself free of other people, and sometimes I would see her sitting alone on a rock, one hand propped beneath her chin in the signature of deep thought. Sometimes it would be enough to just think alongside her, both of us lost inside our respective minds but united through our physical closeness. She'd share her observations, so simple and rudimentary, but declare them with such expression and revelation that I couldn't help but be enchanted by them all over again. Occasionally, I'd offer some intellectual fare for her to chew on, and it would take her days to process. When she had thought it through, she'd come back to me and we'd discuss the manner, her eyes twinkling with wonder as if I were some god of wisdom. These times I cherished the most, more than seeing her at play. She alternated between pursuits of the mind and pursuits of the body equally, but the former was my domain. When she entered it, we danced together through fields of enlightenment, a serenade usually done in solitude.

Albert disappeared for a while, but neither of us seemed to mind his absence. The Esophagor groaned from his pit about his stomach, whether it be bloated or empty, and for a while the Esophagor resorted to handing out Food Quests to passersby. We collaborated sometimes, when the Neopet came to me first, mostly because I could not sleep with the Esophagor's relentless groaning. My sleeping patterns, much to my delight, had become regular and followed along Vali's, allowing me to be awake for every moment she grew.

Little did I know that when Albert reappeared, it was a fateful moment. It seemed like it had been about a month since I had seen him, and Vali had grown substantially. When he arrived at my trunk, he was dirty and battered, either having been pummeled by the Esophagor for abandoning its needs or from something previous to re-entering his home territory. Whatever had happened, it seemed to have beaten his morale as well, as he talked as if he were out of breath constantly, his words slurring in one extended exhalation. He was startled, at first, by Vali's growth, doing a doubletake on Vali, who had likely tripled in size. He scratched the lower part of his brain, raising an eyebrow.

"Christ, what've you been feeding her?"

"More than I'd care to admit," I replied aloofly. He seemed to accept this as an answer and then stood there quietly, searching for something to say. It was obvious he had come to me with a purpose, but as he scuffed his toe across the dirt, it became more obvious that while his conscience had brought him to me, his mouth wouldn't follow through with orders.

Ignoring his awkwardness—that is, not staring down at him demandingly and instead pretending that he didn't exist—seemed to soothe his hesitation to tell me whatever was troubling him. Just as I was about to be engrossed a piece of literature Edna had exchanged with me for some dusty mushrooms circling my trunk, Albert finally spoke up.

"So, I've got some bad news, Brain Tree," he admitted, scratching the back of his head. Articulation difficulties seemed to make the Kacheek intolerably itchy.

"Is there any good news to outweigh this bad news, by chance?" I inquired, looking up from the pages of my book. "There usually is."

"Not unless you want me to lie to you."

"I only seek the truth. Fibs are a waste of my time. Proceed, Kacheek."

"Well, you, uh, know how I was gone for like, a month, right?"

"It was difficult to miss."

"Yeah … hey, did you miss me?"

"Not really."

"Oh." He tried to conceal his disappointment then, but the disappointment blended suddenly with a sort of sick contentment, presumably with the bad news he was about to bestow. If I had a stomach, it might've done flip-flops, though I was never one to get too frazzled over a bad spell. What Albert had to deliver, however, was more than just a momentary rain shower. "See, I spent the better part of that month in jail."

"I see."

"When I went to drop off that money to Fernypoo, uh, well, I was kind of dressed to be disguised, but something went wrong and she saw my face."

"Oh."

"Yeah, and then I came here, and then the Esophagor had Bloaty Belly, and I needed to get him so Flat-u-less Tablets, so I went to Neopia Central."

"Is its belly better now?"

"Oh yes, much." He took in a deep breath to continue his saga. "Anyway, I didn't have any Neopoints, so I had to steal the darn things. The other day, I guess, Fernypoo had called the police with a Pet of my description, and the cops caught me on the whole 'no receipt' bit with my Flat-u-less Tablets."

"Couldn't you have just said that you threw it away?"

Albert paused, staring at me dumbly. "Uh, I guess so." Another pause. "But I didn't." He tried to reason. "But they probably would've anyway, what with me fitting their description and all." He brushed off this tangent with a flick of his paw. "But back to what I was talking about. Anyway, they questioned me for the longest time, like you would not believe. They were butt holes about it too, but I got consistent meals, so that was pretty awesome. I broke down, eventually, though."

"And what does that mean to me?"

"It means you've been convicted of kidnapping Vali, more or less."

I didn't even think before reaching out a branch like a baseball bat and hitting a homerun with Albert as my ball. Usually, this flagrant abuse of the hardy Kacheek relieved my tension immediately, but respite was suddenly hard to come by. All of the potential implications of this development, lie or not (though the Kacheek was not one to lie, at least not intentionally), ran through my head like Poogle racers crossing the finish line, all too neck-and-neck to uncover the most feasible result of Albert's action. A breeze seemed to jolt through me, though the winds were still that day, and I stared forward into space blankly, watching but not seeing trees, their gnarled, knotty trunks like the Devil's fingers tugging Heaven down from below.

I stayed like that for a while—at least until Vali returned. (She had departed upon seeing Albert, having retained her dislike for him from her early years.) She first tried to grasp my attention by patting me on the trunk, and then slamming into me with her shoulder. I was conscious of her movements, but had no desire to react to them. Eventually, she began to yell at me—over the month, she had learned to speak beyond squeals, giggles, and burps (which had contributed greatly to our exchange of thoughts), and I must say, she spoke most eloquently for a Grarrl her age—and still yet a Baby! How she had progressed, how much she _would_ progress, far and past me, enabled by her mobile limbs!

Finally, I wheezed out a sentence for her benefit—something low, and sad, that instructed her to leave me be. At first, she vehemently refused to do so, demanding to know what troubled me. But I would not yield the answer, and eventually she abandoned me more out of frustration than out of my request, sighing, annoyed.

Edna came soon after, as I suspected she would. As far as mail went, I was strongly against mailboxes, as most were made from the wood of my brothers, and I had no desire to promote the destruction of my kinship. Consequentially, all mail that might've come to me was instead redirected to Edna—mostly land and ownership bills (which I steadfastly ignored, as I had been there far before any settlement found its way into the Haunted Woods), but occasionally Edna brought the scant fanmail which I received with an amused snort. Now, however, Edna brought grim tidings, visible from far away on her face. There was a single letter in her hand, and with my keen eyes I could see, regrettably, that it was marked from the Neopian government.

I would explain the complex situation of the Neopian government here, and how the monarchies, democracies, and oligarchies all fit neatly under the umbrella of Neopia's world government, but this is a tale of sentiment, not of politics. Suffice to say the seal of the Neopian government struck fear in my heart, for they were the controlling hand of the Neopian police force who, if Albert had been telling the truth, would be after me for the kidnapping of Vali. As I mentioned, the conglomerate Neopian government wasn't a pure democracy, and as it stood, due process was not needed to convict someone of a crime. This explained the proliferation of freezing.

Edna didn't say a word as she handed the envelope to me—her gaze was solemn, and she fixed it unwavering on my face. The envelope was already opened at the top with a knife, making the note easy to slip out—unfortunate, as I wanted to delay seeing what was inevitably written on the piece of paper inside. Denial of my fate, though, would no more eradicate it than seeing it in print. Shaking independent of the breeze, my branches unfolded, and the funeral knell tolled somewhere in the distance.

The letter read as follows:

_Dear Mr. Brain Tree:_

_The Neopian Police Force have received a number of complaints against your behavior in the past few years._ (Here I factored in that they were also including that incident with that Usul and Krawk that was infamously and unfairly portrayed in the Defenders of Neopia.)_ Keeping in mind the safety of all Neopian inhabitants and visitors to the Haunted Woods, we regret to inform you that we have come upon a unanimous decision for a solution to the problem:_

_On the 25th day of the month of Hiding, the Neopian Land Management Council will come to remove you from the premises via axe and chainsaw._

_Sincerely,_

_The Neopian Government_

Fear struck through me like a handful of snow thrown into a hole in my trunk. Terror was not an emotion I was familiar with—but ever since Vali came around, it seemed to afflict me every day like a chronic condition. Now, however, it did not come in a wave and pass as it did when I saw Vali commit something potentially dangerous—now it permeated through my veins, and solidified itself as a permanent presence inside my wood.

I did not have to be a genius to know what 'remove you from the premises via axe and chainsaw' meant. It was an elementary concept, feared by every tree the moment they planted themselves down well enough to be too difficult to uproot. It was an act committed by burly Lupe lumberjacks daily without regard to the trees in question, and it sent a fresh sense of fear down the length of my trunk every time I took the letter seriously.

I was going to be chopped down.


	7. Chapter 7

The police were on the investigation in no time, having captured an array of Kacheeks to interrogate. They brought me down to the police office every so often, so I could peer through double-sided mirrors to see if I could clearly identify the proper Kacheek, but all of the Mutants looked the same to be, without any clear, distinguishing features. Eventually, they decided to do the questioning without my verification, squeezing all of the information they could out of each individual Kacheek. I didn't find it particularly unjust—all of them were Mutants, so at one point in their life, they must've gotten into some sort of trouble to have them assume the horrendous form they held currently.

To take my mind off the loss of Vali (which it had been stewing in relentlessly for the past week or so), I decided to get off my sulking behind and get out to parties. Thanks to the Lab Ray, my stats were increasing, and with it my stamina for being out at night and dancing fiercely alongside other Neopets. I had always been invited in parties—lavish black-tie events with caviar on tiny triangular crackers, Royal Draiks and Krawks smoking pipes and adjusting their monocles with glamorous Kois and Unis on their elbow, and the finest instrumentalists in Neopia congregating to play as background music—but I had only attended them sparsely, not wanting to seem desperate for socialization.

Now, though, downing carbonated drinks in long-stemmed glasses that sang when you spun your finger along their rim and smirking at the mansion of the hostess and how last-season it was seemed like a great distraction from all of the seriousness of the investigation. So I dressed in my most expensive gowns and put on my most glittering jewelry, and I hit the town nightly with much disapproval from my owner, who was forced to clean up after me in the morning from when I stumbled into bed, my dresses ripped, furniture slashed and stained, and picture frames broken.

When I woke up, my owner shaking me awake violently to go to the Lab Ray, I would receive a stern lecture on the proper way to go out at night, how I had to watch out for myself, and if I wanted to continue living in luxury, I would have to treat it with respect. I would listen to it dully and sulk, often with a headache, and cap off her speech with an unreceptive, cross-armed "yes-ma'am." My owner would then sigh disapprovingly, give me a questionable look sideways, and fall silent. We would continue and finish our journey with a tense quietness between us, a stalemate of sorts. And as soon as the night arrived, and my owner announced she was going to pick up some groceries and I'd better be here when she got back, I'd don my evening attire again and sneak out without permission, exchanging a night full of laughs and light for a morning of storm clouds and scolding.

My irresponsible partying, however, was soon met with a flash of karma. I had begun to become comfortable with our visits to the Lab Ray every day, as for the longest time it hadn't yielded any negative results. Halfway through the month (beginning where I called in the Kacheek), though, things made a negative turn. Assuming I would receive nothing more than a loss of movement, or a level, or even a change of gender at worse, I let the Scorchio set me up in front of the lab with a blazing pride in my eyes, over-confident. The Scorchio was cackling as always, all grins and maniacal hand-rubbing.

"Hahaha, ooOOooo, heheheheh, I can feel it … today will be something different, something new, something … _exciting_ …."

This was a common refrain before a zapping, and it felt no different that day, no increased degree of foreshadowing (though it gave me the shivers as always)—it should have, though, because that day was about to be different as soon as the Scorchio threw the switch.

I expected the normal momentary agony of a level change, or even a status change, but this pain was prolonged, as if the electricity had decided to remain in my system. My proportions seemed to be distorting themselves, my fur sucking into my body, my face growing gigantic and the clothes that I wore as a Royal Acara vanished in a puff of smoke. I whimpered a little, my lungs too tortured to emit a full-fledged scream, and finally the pain let up, leaving me a different pet.

At first, I didn't dare look down at myself. I knew horrible changes had occurred, and to affirm them with my eyes would only seem to make them more permanent. I could hear my owner come in, and give a little gasp—and that was when my eyes popped open, if only to look at her. But they couldn't help but floating down to my body—and what I saw was what I had always dreaded. I saw a red, furless body, with stripes on the side, consisting of mostly a mouth for a body and four little stumps for arms and legs.

I was a Red Quiggle.

Upon the revelation, my eyes didn't wait for any further cues: I burst into an unrelenting flurry of tears. Though I knew there was a possibility the condition would only endure for the day, just having to spend twenty-four hours in that wretched body seemed too much to handle. I fell to the ground and continued my weeping, even when my owner asked me gently to stand up and take her hand. Eventually, my owner had to scoop me up and carry me out of the laboratory, the Scorchio's laugh following us towards the exit.

It took my owner hours of soothing, catering towards my whim, and ordering special gourmet room service to our apartment to get me to calm down. Her most common reassurance was that, like the time I was a Mutant, I would go back to being normal at least within the next few zaps.

So the next morning, after a day of sulking and feeling sorry for myself inside, I woke up with an uncharacteristic eagerness to head out to the Lab Ray, even going so far as to wake up before my owner and brew her a pot of coffee. My kindness, however, did nothing for the inevitable—instead of changing species, or even color, I was only granted with the warm shock of increased strength, leaving me depressed for the rest of the day once again.

And so this cycle continued, me changing my sleeping patterns to get up early for the Lab Ray, and never changing anything of value. For two weeks, I remained a Red Quiggle, and with each day I didn't change into anything different (even a Red _Techo_ would've been nicer), my morale dropped down an even steeper slope. My owner tried to be nice about it, but a visible anxiety was beginning to manifest itself into wrinkles on her face, and she didn't look at me proudly anymore. Even when we fought in the Battledome (usually under a pseudonym as to not embarrass either of us), and I displayed the added strength I had gained from Lab training her favor did not fall on me.

We talked less and less about my condition, which seemed to be digging a rift between the two of us. My owner had always claimed that she would love me no matter what shape I took at the Lab Ray, and no matter how long I took it—but now, when she was face-to-face with the situation, she seemed to flake. I could see it in her eyes: it was no longer as fun to strut around Neopia with a Red Quiggle attached to her side, rather than a Royal Acara. Something about the paint job I had had, whether it was earned or not, had _said_ something about her to passersby, something that a Red Quiggle didn't. When I was with her as a regally painted Pet, I showed the world her and value no matter how raggedly her clothes were: she was worthy and rich enough for a Royal pet—a _Royal _pet! A thing only available to the richest of the rich—the crème of the crop—the Hidden Tower seekers and finders, the glamorous adventurers!

I confronted her about it one night over dinner. Our dinners used to be lively, at least from her end—she'd ask how my day was, and I would give her detail in a haughty voice, dismissing things verbally that other Neopets would cherish and consider extravagant activities. Now, however, the tables were turning—I was the one inquiring her to speak, and she replied heavily, wearily, as if it were a burden to relay her day to me.

"Mistress," I asked, trying to make my voice sound respectable and demanding rather than desperate and meek, "you don't seem to take me out as much anymore."

"No, I suppose not," admitted my owner. She kept her eyes low on her food, denying me her gaze. I tried to command it by gesturing wildly, but that only made her stir her mashed potatoes faster. "It's just I've been very busy lately."

"With what?"

"With work. You wouldn't understand." She made up some excuse about restocks being more strenuous lately with the influx of Neopian citizens attending them, and then excused herself from the table to clean her plate. I watched her back depart slowly and thoughtfully—she walked as if she were treading a road to perdition, thinking long and soullessly about a task she was bound to commit.

That heinous crime came just the day after I asked the question. She managed to beat me to the sunrise, waking up just minutes before I did. She was already fumbling around with her keys in the front room when I opened my eyes, audible through my bedroom door. I rose and slid off the bed, opening my door a crack to peer through to where my owner shuffled around her things with a certain frantic manner. She was sorting through a stack of papers furiously, and looking back between the papers and a suitcase next to it, periodically opening the suitcase to check something inside. She didn't notice me until she had zipped up the suitcase with a certain finality, looking backwards to have her eyes fall on me with a start.

"Oh! Ferny. You're up." She paused, and looked around. "Morning," she added as a halfhearted greeting. I nodded slowly, emerging from the doorway. As I looked closer at my owner's eyes, I could see that they were slightly bloodshot and a little more dewy than usual.

"Mistress, have you been—"

"Oh, my eyes?" She gestured towards them, and then waved them away dismissively—but she did this in a manner too hurried to be taken seriously. "I just stayed up late, is all. S'why I'm still awake." She shoved the papers into the sides of the suitcase, and then turned towards me fully, holding her arms akimbo. "Well, well. You'll probably want some breakfast before we're off to the Lab Ray."

I raised an eyebrow. "Why? We never eat it beforehand."

"Well, why can't we break our routine?" Her voice was slightly hysterical, with a bit of a falsetto around the edges. I backed up into my room a bit, and her tone became more conciliatory, as if trying to lure me out. "I made Faerie Pancakes for you, with butter and everything. They're in the kitchen … serve yourself."

While this was a shade concerning in itself—my owner never made her own food, and I wasn't sure how well she cooked—I headed towards the kitchen to find a plate of Faerie Pancakes waiting for me, along with utensils and syrup. I brought them out into the dining room and began to awkwardly pour the syrup on myself. It was a strange and new process—I was used to other people doing these details for me, up to everything but cutting the pancakes and putting them in my mouth myself.

My owner sat across from me, watching my every move. This only increased my sense of discomfort, and I chewed slowly as consequence. My owner asked me a few questions, none that I could remember clearly as of now, but in retrospect they all seemed to be oriented towards whether or not I could be self-sufficient. I answered uncertainly, but with answers that seemed to please her, and she nodded at them with too much interest, smiling distantly.

We departed for the Lab Ray after my owner had, inexplicably, instructed me to take one of my favorite plushies with. (I selected my Faerie Cybunny plushie, which was one of my first and one I had always had a fondness for. It was worn around the edges, but it still retained a fraction of its beauty despite its age, and I loved it for that). I noticed my owner was taking me in a direction different than we usually took to the Lab Ray, and I confronted her about that.

"We're taking a short cut," she reassured, but the wild, crooked smile and desperation in her eyes gave my stomach a sinking feeling. I tried to deduce what she was up to, but nothing came immediately to mind, and for the time being it seemed my best bet to follow her.

When we approached the outskirts of Neopia Central, though, my stomach sank all the way down to my bladder. If the stinky feeling inside of my gut had any say, something baleful was afoot, and it was in my best interest to bolt. But I had developed a trust for my owner all of these years, even if I hated being under her command, and a voice deep down urged me to keep my loyalty.

But that voice's judgment was flawed. Very blatantly now, my owner was leading me towards a modern-architecture building that reminded me of an above-ground tomb, boxy and made of concrete. A sort of gloom seemed to exude from its walls, and cover the area around it in a smoke that made flowers and even simple grass wilt around it to be dominated by an inhospitable terrain made of pavement. Affixed to the top of the building was a neon, campy sign that swung in the wind from years neglected in the face of gales. It read, in a midday, reddish glow: THE NEOPIAN POUND.

Unlike other Neopets who I saw being pulled towards this coffin of a structure, I did not struggle against my owner's wishes. I thought of doing it at first, of course—giving my owner a desperate, epic struggle, swaying her with empathy towards my out-of-control emotions and tears. I certainly could whip up a whirlwind of sorrow, regret, and pleas in an instant, but the aura of the building seemed to drain all the energy from me. I couldn't fathom how those other Neopets managed to put up such a fight. My soul already felt grey and beaten on the inside—if I could only force that feeling to manifest on my skin, perhaps my owner would see more worth in me. But it was a feat I could not manage.

Wearily, I craned my neck up to my owner as we approached. "You detached my Moltenore during the night, didn't you?" I asked, a hint of accusation in my voice.

Her response was sorrowful, and she refused to make eye contact. "Yes. I'll probably be putting him in the store soon."

"No more Neopets for you?"

"Yes—unless they find Vali. So don't take it personally, will you?" Bags seemed to fill out underneath her eyes, purple and unsightly, and her hair seemed to fray and whiten at the roots. In a moment, I realized that these imperfections had always been there, but my mind's eye had not chosen to amplify them. About to be abandoned, I was seeing my owner for the first time as a _human_, rather than someone to answer to, and a human was prone to all sorts of subjective flaws in appearance.

"That'd be impossible."

We continued in silence, through the revolving doors that I nearly got my foot stuck in (my owner consoled me afterwards, kissing my toe with that tenderness that I would miss achingly), and into the stuffy interior. The Pound seemed to refuse to get air conditioning in the lobby to further discourage owners from abandoning their Pets, but nevertheless, the line reached almost to the door. There was something pathetic wailing and weeping, except from those colored pets who were obviously meant to be transferred who waiting patiently in their owner's arms for a better life. I was the only common pet that was complacent and quiet, the reality of what was about to happen still not yet kicking in.

DrDeath was a real butt hole to my owner, and gave her a hard time about abandoning me. Apparently he recognized my name, and he went on a lengthy diatribe about painted pets and plain pets and how they were all the same if you pulled off their fur, and blah blah blah. I, much to his surprise, was the one that cut him off, giving him a tight-lipped smile.

"Look. She has the paperwork. How about you just get me situated in a cage already? I don't want to be rearranging my new place past my bedtime."

DrDeath was too stunned by my defense of my negligent owner to stamp the papers himself, and I ended up inking up the stamp, placing it in his hand, and slamming it down for him. A volunteer at the Pound—a tired-looking Cloud Ixi—escorted me to the back along with my owner.

I tried to close my ears off to the wailings of the kennels, but it was impossible. All of the Neopets in the Pound seemed gluttons for a melancholy atmosphere, and many of them rattled the bars of their cages like ghosts bound in chains. Haggard eyes behind scruffy, uncut fur looked up at me with bleary looks from Yurbles and Meercas, some of the more common Pets scattered inside the Pound. The cages were stacked on top of each other, and sliding ladders like those in a library lined the cages so the pets could be fed. Tragically, those in the top cages tended to be the most overlooked, and had to gain attention through alternate methods: unusual shriek and hurling feces.

I was condemned to a cell about in the middle, and the Cloud Ixi helped me up to it. My owner stayed on the ground, looking up to me. She watched as the Ixi fumbled with the door, closing the latch and then locking it. The Ixi whispered an apology to me when the lock clicked shut, but I shook my head at the unnecessary gesture. Perhaps I would've been bratty in the past, but in that moment I understood it was her job, and if she didn't lock me up, she wouldn't eat.

"You all right in there?" my owner—my former owner—called up to me, a shred of guilt in her voice. I looked down through the bars and waved, and gave a slow nod. The Ixi descended the ladder, and my owner tried to push the suitcase into the Ixi's hands. "Here. Here's Ferny's things."

The Ixi looked at my former owner quizzically. "I'm sorry ma'am. I can't give your Pet—er, your former Pet, those things. It's not company policy."

My former owner looked at the Ixi blankly, and then back up at me. Conflict was in her eyes, and she looked almost ready to throw the bag upwards for me to catch (which I wouldn't mind if I wasn't so poor at catching things). But this only lasted a moment, and then she looked downwards to the Ixi, nodding curtly. "Ah, okay. I understand."

The Ixi offered to lead her out, but my former owner declined the gesture of courteous and began lingering around the cages. I wondered why she was stalling her exit, and thought of calling down to her to pass up the bag now. But before I could call out, something happened that made my complacency towards being thrown in the Pound turn full circle.

The Cloud Ixi returned, having disappeared back towards the lobby, this time escorting a Maraquan Gelert by a leash. The Ixi was looking amongst the cages for a proper place to put the Gelert, but was immediately interrupted by my former owner before any other potential owners could confront the Ixi. My former owner practically seized the leash from the Cloud Ixi's mouth, her eyes bugged and slightly crazed.

"Mine. She's _mine_."

The Cloud Ixi gave my owner a strange look. "I beg your pardon … I mean, it's okay if you have her, that's part of our rules … but—"

"A transfer, a transfer," explained my former owner, leash in hand and already leading the Gelert back towards the lobby. "It was arranged beforehand. No money involved, no worries, it's legit."

My former owner didn't even look back at me, seemingly immersed in just staring at the Maraquan Gelert. I watched in silence until they exited the door together, my former owner already verbally gushing and flattering the aloof Gelert, who seemed to take no interest in my former owner's praise.

The shock wore off at the same time the door slammed behind them. I screamed—shrieked, really, a banshee shriek more suitable to a Ghost Neopet. Though I knew many of the Pets around me had gone through hardships, I doubted they had had to witness such blatant treachery from their former owners. The betrayal stabbed itself deep in my heart—though I had never cared for my owner exceptionally, I had always had a strange family tie to her, and would never have abandoned her without warning for another owner. No, the betrayal was not the stab—the abandoning was, and I could take that puncture wound in stride. But the twisting of that cursed dagger by way of the Gelert—that was the blow that no suture could close, deep and ragged in my heart.

I shrieked until my shrieks turned to screams, screamed until my screams turned to yells, yelled until my yells turned to wails, and wailed until my vocal chords gave out. My throat was raw as I collapsed in my cell, but no vocal agony could compare to the metaphysical one I had just endured. I was exhausted and defeated, and was just beginning to notice how cold and dingy my cell was. There was no luxuries that surrounded me—no pampering to be lavished on my Royal head. I was a common-colored, common-species Neopet, with no appeal whatsoever to potential adopters besides a name that wasn't mutilated. And potential owners' lack of interest showed as they passed by my cell without consequence. Had it been only a few weeks earlier, they would've bought me without batting an eyelash—but now I was an invisible Neopet, rendered so by my commonality.

In sleep I only found fitful dreams of Vali, wondering if she had been found yet. I had managed to suppress the pain of her disappearance until now through the partying and anxiety over my condition, but now it came back in full force, dominating my thoughts to drown those about my former owner. In my dreams, Vali wandered through darkened woods without direction, weeping and eventually collapsing, to become prey to the merciless hunters of the wilderness around her.

I would awaken from these dreams with a start, and shake my head into reality, momentarily believing I was in my bed at home, wrapped amongst silken sheets. But then I would feel the cold metal beneath me, and the rank scent of a lack of hygiene amongst a slew of Pets, and remember where I was, and weep.

Days passed by in a blissful blur, transitioning from day to night and back to day again in one beautiful motion of the sun circling the globe. Unemployed, I could enjoy the fruits of these days without wasting nine hours of each living through a drudging job and dealing with clients whose only pleasure in life was torturing me. Outside of work, I found pleasures previously unexplored—I found lands I had never traveled to, the Lost Desert, Mystery Island, and Terror Mountain, sunning myself where appropriate and setting out on mountain treks in the snowy regions.

I suppose Chiitsuru and Miko suffered from a deficiency of income, but instead of feeling sorry for them, I saw myself as administering much-needed karma on their heads. While I globe-hopped, sending them postcards of beautiful Aishas and gorgeous sunsets, I outran their replies by keeping an unsteady address. Even though Miko had insisted I get a P.O. box, it was back in Neopia Central, and I rarely visited that dull place of the status-quo. Instead, I busied myself on the high seas, and went scuba diving to the Ruins of Maraqua, testing my skill in deep sea fishing.

To fund these endeavors, I would visit the local game shop wherever I went. I was fairly decent at some of the action games, and an ace at most of the puzzles, and the Neopoints poured out in quantities that seemed far vaster than the paltry paycheck I received at home. Of course, I knew my paycheck yielded a far higher outcome on the whole, as it came consistently and what was written on the check was higher than any number I earned in Neopoints, but feeling the physical bulk of Neopoints felt far more substantial in the face of the paper-thin scrap that served as my paycheck.

In all honesty, I felt guilty for leaving Chiitsuru and Miko at home—but even if they hadn't been going through a patch where they hated me due to my ferocity towards the porcelain, I wouldn't—couldn't—have brought them with. This vacation was about me—about my liberation from the National Neopian, and enabling me to get my first real breath of fresh air in eternity. For too long, I had been made to inhale the exhalations of others, and weaken my soul through their carbon dioxide waste. So far away, though, they had no say as to what happened to me, and what I breathed for air. So I gulped in all of the oxygen I could greedily until I had to return to that stuffy Neohome and resume breathing the fumes of others.

I went away for about three weeks (directly after quitting my job) and returned promptly afterwards. I had told Miko I would be away that long, and although I was testing new grounds for my life, I had no desire to be a liar. My bags were filled to the brim when I arrived—they were limp and lifeless when I left—and although I had eaten richly on my travels, more muscle lined my body than fat as I had been constantly active throughout my vacation. I entered—no, burst—through the door, my heart filled with jubilance, trying to make it pour into the house.

Something strange happened upon my entrance, though. Everything was as I had left it—the porcelain still in a pile near the wall, and my owner unresponsive to my entrance—but there was one significant change in the décor:

On the dining room table sat the Fountain Faerie, waiting patiently for someone to notice her.

As if on cue, I dropped all of my suitcases and gaped. I had seen her likeness plastered to the Rainbow Fountain whenever Miko was kind enough to take me along on one of her and Chiitsuru's many escapes to Faerieland, but she was far more stunning in the flesh. It baffled me how she arrived, for she had no wings and a turquoise, scaled mermaid tail. These scales ran up her body and covered her bosom, giving the illusion that her whole body was glimmering with sequins. Her face was inarguably gorgeous, marked with turquoise as it was, and her hair seemed to be spun from something divine. I almost fell to my knees in reverence (and in a weakening of them), but I managed to stand to stare blankly.

"Hello," she finally said, awkwardly.

"Uh, hi," I managed to squeak.

"I was looking for my Red Moehawk Guitar," she said calmly, running her fingers through her hair. "You think you could manage that for me."

"Um, well, what does it look like?" She held up her hand, and a little puff of smoke caused a slip of paper to appear between her fingers. Simply, she held it forward, and I took it. Still, I never took my eyes off her visage.

"When you get that, come back to the Faerie Quest thing in Faerie City, all right?" she said with the most heart-meltingly charming smile Neopia has ever seen.

"Uh, do you know where I might be able to, uh, find this thing?" I asked, not bothering to glance at the estimated value beneath the picture of the guitar. She laughed, and it felt like I was in a Jacuzzi of sound, bubbling all around me.

"That's up to _you_ to find out, dearest. See you soon."

With a snap of her alabaster fingers, she vanished in a puff of turquoise smoke, taking my heart with her. Behind her, she left a stack of papers regarding the quest, presumably some disclaimers and some rules to 'questing,' as it were.

I didn't bother with any of that fussy paperwork. Perhaps when I was working under the yoke of the National Neopina, I would've—but I had long since changed my ways. I no longer colored by the numbers, but outside the lines, and sang my own tune while others played rigidly to the meter.

Without bothering to pack away my stuff (I left it on the floor at the door, making it nearly impossible to exit), I darted out the door and immediately headed for the Shop Wizard in Neopia Central. I had never been on a quest before (such activities had been reserved for Chiitsuru only), so I wasn't aware that the Shop Wizard was off limits. As soon as I handed the Shop Wizard the little ticket displaying the red guitar with the strange keyboard, the Shop Wizard shook his head solemnly.

"'Fraid I can't help you out with that, son. You've got to search around the Marketplace by yourself for that kinda request."

I was insulted at first, and thought about retorting, but then I reasoned that all of this was probably detailed in the fine print I didn't sort through. With a shrug, I headed towards the Marketplace, alive with the buzzing of Neopians trying to find a good bargain at resale.

There were numerous amounts of buildings to pick from, and within each one of those buildings there were separate tents, divided up by owner. Some had signs outside of their tents that advertised what they specialized in, if they had a specialty. Others encouraged people inside with promises of having certain items for a certain Faerie Quest, with directions to 'sister tents' to cater to a Neopet's needs through a tight-knit circle. Seeing no sign that appealed towards the Neopet on a Fountain Faerie Quest, I eventually wandered into one of the bigger shops just for inquiry.

I was greeted by an emo-looking Usul, who wore an ornery pout on her face. "Welcome," she said with no degree of convincing enthusiasm.

"Hey," I replied, trying to be casual. "Do you know where I could find items for a Fountain Faerie quest?"

"Just about anywhere," she replied with a smirk. "But you're going to have to pay big." Her smirk faded, and a look of honest interest appeared in her eyes. "Whatcha looking for, bro?"

I helped up the slip of paper to her, pointing at the object's picture. "A Red Moehawk Guitar."

If she had been drinking anything, there would've been a spittake. Thankfully, that was replaced by a simple drop of her jaw. "You're looking for the guitar of only the most _famous punk rocker ever_?"

"Yeah, it looks that way. You a fan?"

"_Majorly._ If you could find that, man, I'd give you the Neopoints for it, and you can buy whatever Paint Brush with the sum I give you."

After thanking her for what little advice she gave me, I headed off to other stores to try my luck, narrowing my searches down to stores that specialized in instruments. Each time I inquired about the guitar, I was met with similar looks of amazement and wonder, whether from the fact I was on a Fountain Faerie quest or that I was looking for such a fabled item. Sometimes, I was even met with coarse, mocking laughter that earned some unfortunate shop owners a flattened nose, but I quickly recovered from that momentary anger to find the energy to search in another tent.

It was dusk when I finally found the guitar, and most shop owners were packing in their things or switching off with another employee to hold down the fort during the quiet night hours. It was even more brilliant in person after all of those hours of hunting for it—it was my holy grail with an electric outlet, the Fountain of Youth with a power jack.

Holding it as if it were made of glass, I ran towards the front of the store, knocking a couple of Jubjub customers out of the way as I went. The store owner, a Yurble who had, until I came up to him, been playing on a portable keyboard with headphones plugged in, looked up from his musical pursuits, tipping his head downwards to gaze at me over his glasses pretentiously. "What do you desire, young Skeith?" he asked, his voice obnoxious and forcibly low. Holding back a laugh, I held out the guitar demonstratively.

"How much are you asking for this?"

He laughed a suspiciously non-nasally laugh, snooty and stuck-up. He took the guitar from my hands and ran his fingers the length of the strings, admiring it on his own for a moment. "Ah, yes, Moehawk's red guitar. Quite a fine chap, that Moehawk. What did you think of his latest album?" demanded the Yurble suddenly, as if he were the gatekeeper and that the critical question.

"Actually, I'm not a fan," I admitted with a shrug, and this was met from the sincerest of scorns from the Yurble. "I'm on a Fountain Faerie quest, and I guess she has a dire need for expensive rock equipment."

"_Expensive_ is surely the appropriate word, though I'd prefer _artifact_," sniffed the Yurble. "While I can't sell this on regular store terms, between the two of us, I'll let it go for, oh … one and a half million Neopoints."

My jaw dropped. As a former teller, I had seen clients throw around money like that as if it were dishrags—yet for my poorer clients, I had learned truly how great a value that was. I picked my jaw up off the counter, trying to regain some pride, and swallowed. "Well, I don't have that kind of money right _now_ … but how's this: you put this item on hold for a week, _just a week_, and I practically guarantee you I'll get you that money in a week's time. If I don't, well … I give you full permission to track me down and break that thing over my head, Clash-style."

"I would never break a precious item such as _this_ … but I will take you up on your offer. Besides, no one but"—here he paused to look me up and down and express his disapproval through a highly distasteful look—"_you_ has inquired about it so long as it's been here." He placed the guitar behind the counter, next to his keyboard. "Come back in a week. You'd better have those Neopoints. One and a half, and no less."

I knew he was being obnoxious about the price, but so far I had spent the whole day searching and his was the first guitar I had seen. I spent the remainder of the day until midnight scavenging for a better offer, but I found no further Moehawk guitars. Not entirely defeated, and knowing I had a backup, I retreated back home, my limbs weary and ready for a rest. I wasn't allowed to go directly to bed, however, for Miko finally decided to emerge and welcome me back with a strict lecture.

"You _cannot_ just go on random holidays like that, Max. And how could you have quit your job? Do you know how hard I've been working my fingers to ensure that I can put food on the table? All the while you're waltzing around Neopian islands, without a care in the world! Chiitsuru and I were worried _sick_ about you!"

"Spare me, Miko," I said. Her pet addressing her by her first name still sets her off into an awkward position. It suggests that the two of us are equal, and I'm not subordinate to her. Even Chiitsuru didn't call her Miko, and he was higher up on her ladder of respect. "I've just spent the past three weeks experiencing _first-hand_ that it's a cakewalk to survive from games alone. If all else fails, there's still the Omelette, or maybe the Giant Jelly. Either way, you've got options for food, and for fun there's Kacheek Seek for the two of you. It's just the superfluous stuff—the stuff you don't really need—that you're missing."

Miko inflated, her cheeks and ears turning red like a balloon. Her eyes flickered to the still-uncleaned porcelain, though, and she seemed to recall the apathetic fury I was able to muster on a whim. Quickly, she tempered her rage to just below boiling point. "Well, anyway, we missed you. And why didn't you unpack your things?"

"Didn't you look at the paperwork on the dining room table?"

"No."

"We're on a Fountain Faerie Quest."

Like a spring tempest, Miko's wrath faded from her face in seconds, evaporating to a broad, goofy, unbelieving smile. "You're kidding me!" I didn't have to tell her that I wasn't—she was already rushing over to the paperwork, skimming and sorting over it hungrily. Her smile kept spread like a plague of her face, threatening to diminish her cheeks to nothing but elated wrinkles. "My God, Max, we're on a Fountain Faerie Quest!" She looked through the papers a bit more, skipping the disclaimers, until she came upon a picture of the time. She pulled this paper away from the rest, and squinted at the caption underneath the photo. "Red … Moehawk … Guitar?"

"That's the one," I agreed.

"Did you compare and contrast prices? Did you find it?" Her questions were out of order, but I ignored it and answered them in the proper sequence.

"Yes, I found the Guitar—but there's a catch." The eagerness on Miko's face had not ceased to fade, so I decided to continue with my admission. "The lowest price I could find was for one and a half million Neopoints."

For a moment, I was afraid Miko would faint: all the color drained from her face, her eyelids moved rapidly up and down across her eyeball, and her body swayed as if moved by an erratic breeze. She was about to swoon when she regained herself, stumbling forward to catch herself on her hands on the table. Quickly, she pulled out a chair and sat herself down, cupping her forehead in her hands. She was chanting the sum under her breath with wide eyes that stared into the woodgrain blankly, probably unable to comprehend the fortune.

"Well, don't worry, it might not be as hard as it looks," I reassured Miko, coming over to rub her shoulders soothingly. "I know that I set us up a National Neopian account, so we should still have some money in there …"

"No." Miko shook her head hard, half to reject my statement and half to wake her out of her trance. "No. We spent all that money, while you were gone."

"Already? Jesus. On what?"

"A new Paint Brush for Chiitsuru. He decied Christmas was too common, and he wanted something exotic, like Island, and well … he's Island now, quite a fetching shade, but it was ridiculously expensive, and I had to withdraw from our account … there's only about a grand in there now." She pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes, visibly stressed. "And even worse, he's already complaining about he's getting sick of the color, and … I just don't know if I can keep up with all of these trends anymore …" She pulled her face up from her hands, and looked up to me. Her eyes were reddened, and I could see the vague beginning of tears in her eyes. "It's just too much for me."

Miko had been a complete idiot to me in the past, and had always favored Chiitsuru, but with those words I felt a sort of unity towards her, banded against the vanity of Chiitsuru. She had never really expressed emotion to be besides discontent and irritation, and seeing a desperate, straining, human side of her played a empathetic melody across my heart strings. Consoling, I wrapped my arms around the front of her and gave her a quick hug, nestling my chin into the crook between her shoulder and her neck.

"Don't worry about it, Miko, really. I can work for the Neopoints—I've got a few contacts who still owe me a favor or two, and I'm getting pretty good at some of the games. One week is _plenty_ time to earn one and a half mil, especially if I decide to start up my own store. That guitar'll be ours in no time. You've just got to promise me one thing."

"There's always a catch," Miko said with a sigh.

"Don't worry, this one doesn't require signing away your soul—it's really quite logical. You've just got to promise me—no matter how Chiitsuru begs for another new form—you've got to let _me_ be the one to bath in the Rainbow Fountain."

Miko looked to the side, her eyes meeting with mine. The incident with the Faerie Ixi Morphing Potion was still painfully fresh in both of our minds, and neither of us seemed to want to repeat the outcome of that action. The clockwork was working in her head—I could tell by the way her pupil seemed distant and clouded, although they were inches from mine. I wished I was psychic at that moment, so I could determine the probability of my wish being granted, and her trustworthiness overall. But I was tragically disconnected from her brain, the outside looking in, and could only rely on the stability of what promises came from her mouth.

"All right. I promise."

Those four words set a machine in action: a machine devoted to generating Neopoints whatever way possible. In the first few days, I called or neomailed every available contact I knew that owed me money, whether I thought it was possible that they would pay me back in the timeframe allotted. With that base covered, I moved on to being a religious attendee of giveaways, surveys, and other ways to earn Neopoints through easy means. I started a shop, and began stalking the restocks with a diligence seen only by the most frugal and richest of Neopia. I outfitted my tent grandly to attract more customer attention, and in two days time I had a bustling storefront, paying a reliable Uni I used to know from the National Neopian to tend to my budding business.

For the remainder of my time, I was a devotee of the Game Room. From the crack of dawn to twilight (and often well into the night), I glued myself to the machines and cycled to every game, milking the Neopoints out of the three payoffs I was allowed. I would hog the game if I needed to, ignoring the cries of waiting players, and sometimes I walked home with a newly-earned trophy, baffled at my success. Mostly, though, I came home with a sack full of Neopoints, which Miko and I would sort through and count in the late hours, out of Chiitsuru's sight. Miko did what she could to earn Neopoints to contribute to the pile, but the fraction of my donations to hers was staggering. Still, we were rapidly adding to our cash supply, and we final came to our grand total (plus a little extra) the night precisely _before_ the store's deadline.

Ecstatic, my owner immediately sent me out in the dark of night to retrieve the guitar, promising we would head out tomorrow morning for the Rainbow Fountain. I was more than happy to follow orders, practically prancing to the instrument shop. There the Yurble had plugged his keyboard into a nearby speaker, and was driving out customers with extended Mahler symphonies transcribed all to piano. He didn't hear me entering, and barely saw me once I had brought the guitar up to the counter. I had to rip the plug to his keyboard out of the socket to grab his attention.

"I'm here with the cash," I proclaimed, and with a deft movement, placed a stack of Neopoints on the counter. (We had consolidated the change and the bills I had received from the machines.) "So now you'll give me the guitar, right?"

"Uh, well." The Yurble looked frantic, his eyes darting from the Neopoints to the guitar, and back again. "Well, I suppose it's, uh, the right thing to do, yes. But, uh, before you take it, do you mind if I … play it once?"

"I don't know if I understand what you're asking."

"Well, see, it's more of a collection piece than anything else, so I've always had it in stock, rather than actually getting around to playing it …" The Yurble, usually so full of himself about music, had suddenly become almost bashful now that I had shown legitimate interest in buying something. "… so I was wondering … if I could actually get a few notes out on it before you give it to the Fountain Faerie …"

It was quaint, and cute in a saddening way, and I didn't reject his request. The Yurble fumbled with an amp he kept behind the counter, plugging the jack attached to the guitar into the amp. He gave a few tentative strums of the strings, letting out a horrible chord—he apologized, and then began twisting the knobs at the end of the neck of the guitar until the notes started to sound decent. With only his right paw's fingers, he began to pick out select tunes on the guitar, his left paw gently tending to the fingerboard and frets.

He had positioned himself on the counter of the music shop, the electric guitar held like an acoustic on his lap. He began to sing along with the guitar—his voice was a trembling tenor, that faltered every so often to alto, but there was something appealing in how off tune and carefully he sang a slow, emotional song by Gruundo. The care with how he tended each syllable as if generously pouring parts of his soul into each sentence was entrancing, and I watched without reservation.

I considered asking him for lessons once he finished, but I knew I had practically no money left to even afford a simple kazoo, let alone a guitar and a private teacher. The only way I had left to earn money was the Game Room for such special luxuries, and I never wanted to see the dim, drudgy lights of the Game Room ever again.

I thanked him for the song, and he smiled weakly, jumping back behind the counter. I had to remind him that I had bought the guitar (he was grasping to it with white knuckles, obviously having second thoughts about selling it), and eventually he relinquished it with a few stern words of the importance of maintenance as well as handing me a guidebook to the 'caretaking' of my guitar. I declined to remind him that the guitar would be in my possession for only one night before it was transferred to the Fountain Faerie—he just seemed so concerned that it would be safe in my hands that I didn't want to traumatize him with the thought that it was trading hands once more beyond me.

It was midnight exactly when I headed back home, and Neopia Central was asleep, save for a few lights glimmering from the residential areas. The Marketplace was suffering its nighttime doldrums, and the few owners that decided to tenaciously stay the night for the possible stray customer nodded off at their posts. It would be tragically easy to steal valuable items from their shops at these vulnerable moments, but my moral compass wouldn't allow me to swing that far south, and I continued home, keeping my hands—and the guitar—firmly to my side.

When I arrived home, nobody was awake; I could hear the soft snores of Miko and the heavy breathing of Chiitsuru creating harmonies in the other rooms. I tucked the guitar neatly away in our inventory and then scribbled down a note reminding Miko to wake me when she decided to leave for the Rainbow Fountain. I attached it to the inventory with tape, a place I knew Miko would see it. I contemplated a cup of warm milk before bed, but my stomach wasn't feeling up to lactose, so I skipped my midnight snack and stumbled into bed, exhausted yet relieved, waiting to be refreshed for a new day, and a new life.


	8. Chapter 8

As it happened, I didn't have to stay in the Pound as long as I feared. I stayed one lonely night within the confines of my new cell, eating the hard pebbles and mush that they called food. (The water, too, was stagnant, and had a slight film over the top that I was forced to either penetrate with my finger or my tongue. Being a Quiggle, it was easier, though more disgusting, to do it with the latter.) I was just about to dip into my food container (that was filled once in the morning for the rest of the day) for a self-scheduled lunch when a pack of Neopets filed in through the doors leading to the lobby.

At first, I thought it was a case of mass abandonment from one owner—something that happened with a fair amount of frequency, if my one day there was any indication. But as I looked closer, I noticed that these Pets weren't tagless and despondent, though their visages were serious and concentrated. They wore navy uniforms with black carrying equipment, and from the golden stars blazing on their chests, I knew that they were the police.

Fear was my initial reaction. Cops could mean that there was a criminal amongst us, and the few paltry possessions I held I immediately held my arms over in a protective umbrella. Even worse was the prospect of a more serious law-violator, perhaps in cahoots with crime bosses like Malkus Vile.

But no—much to my surprise, they were approaching my pen, stopping at the column where my cage lay and tipping their heads upwards at the instruction of the Green Uni that guided them. One of them, a Chia whose shoulders displayed badges indicating a higher ranking than his comrades, stepped out from the fray, addressing me directly. He looked familiar, and after he began to speak I recognized him as the police chief I had gone to when Vali had first disappeared. My heart immediately found its way to my throat.

"Princess Fernypoo? Is that you?" asked the Chia police chief incredulously. I hesitated at first, wondering if I should pretend to be someone else to maintain my identity's pride, but then gave in for Vali's sake.

"Yes," I admitted heavily, my voice husky with regret. "I had an unfortunate run-in with the Lab Ray."

"My apologies, ma'am," said the Chia police chief, and he sounded sincerely sorry. I didn't want his pity, but I didn't force him to reclaim it. "We're here about Vali."

"I thought you were." Immediately, I became animated, jumping to the bars of my cage and nearly knocking over my food-and-water dish in the process. Scummy water splashed across the bottom of my cage, and sent a rank stench wafting into my nose. I ignored it. "Have you heard word back from her? Do you know where she is?"

"Yes, we do, Princess. We found her, and we've got her back at the police station."

Even in the midst of the devastated atmosphere of the Pound, my heart had never been so full. I nearly collapsed in the dirty water that dribbled out from my cage, dripping to the ground. A warmth filled me, a warmth that could not be penetrated by the dank coldness of the Pound around me. It was an elation reserved for those who thought they had lost something imperatively precious forever, and it was indefinable to those without the experience. Those who had—who took part in that beautiful brotherhood with me—could look at each other and nod knowingly with a smile, acknowledging that we alone had felt the glow of Heaven's gates.

After basking in this radiance for a few moments longer, letting the wondrous reality set in, logic came back to me. "Hold on. Why are you telling me this, instead of my own—my former owner? Did you _tell_ her?"

"Not yet." The Chia police chief smirked. "Rumor's spread like wildfire about how your owner ditched you for some Maraquan Gelert. Her store's doing pretty poorly now because of it. Personally, I'd rather you reclaim Vali and have you two live on your own—I wouldn't want Vali to fall victim to these circumstances."

"What do you mean?" I asked, specifically about the 'living on our own' bit.

"Iffin you want us to, the Police Department and the Neopian Government's offering you two liberation from owner circumstances. Only if you get a job of course, though."

Although I had never worked a day in my life, and previously I would've scoffed at the notion, now the thought of living free of obligation towards a human and overlooking Vali's upbringing (while raking in the income) seemed a most fantastic and dream-worthy prospect. I stared down at them, as if they were offering me the keys to a perfect life.

"Of _course_ I accept. Now, bring me to Vali. I can't wait any longer."

The demands and bossiness were the remainder of my days as a member of the upper class, and I could detach myself from my body and observe these mannerisms. I wondered if they would fade in time, rubbed smooth by the rough edges of real society, as my brattiness and vanity had.

The police went through some paperwork from DrDeath and the Pink Uni at the front (I didn't manage to catch the Pink Uni's name, although I always wanted to know it), and after a few stamps and signatures, we were out the door and heading towards police headquarters. The policemen tried to make conversation on the way there, but I gave them short and unsatisfactory replies, too over-stimulated with the thought of seeing Vali again to bother with speech. The possible situations of our reunion flashed through my mind—would it be pleasant? Would she be traumatized? Would she be a different Pet than I remembered? Would she still be a Baby Skeith? All of these thoughts scrambled through my mind at their own respective frequencies, meshing together to form a mangled web of thoughts unsorted within my skull.

I entered police headquarters breathlessly, planning on the shock of seeing Vali at any moment. All my life had been boiled down to this moment—I no longer had to fill my head with superficial worries about the latest fashions and keeping up with what was in style. As a Red Quiggle, all of the vanity of my former life was shed away when my fur had been replaced with sticky skin. Left were only the important aspects of life: Vali, and the pursuit of honest happiness for the both of us. I couldn't help but fantasize the possible future of just the two of us, playing and laughing and surviving, answering to only ourselves.

It was the moment before they led me into the lobby that they warned me Vali would be there. It was decided they would go in first, talk to Vali for a moment, especially about the physical changes I had gone through, and then reveal me by signaling me to open the door by three knocks. I agreed, and waited anxiously behind the door, peeking between the cracks of the doorway and trying to catch a momentary glimpse of Vali. It was no use—the navy uniformed backs of the policemen obscured her from my sight.

Their time speaking to her was limited, but the anxiousness in my stomach stretched time to eternity. Finally, those long-awaited knocks came at the door, and I pushed with all my might against it, nearly knocking over one of the officers in the process. I leapt into the room, and searched about eagerly with my eyes.

She saw me before I saw her, and she made contact, too, before I could register her presence. Her arms were slamming right below my mouth—she had grown, far more substantially than I would have guessed, but even as a shorter Quiggle I dominated her in size. Instead of her infant clothing, she was dressed in something more appropriate for toddlers: corduroy overalls and a white shirt printed with Blumaroos at the collar. She grasped me tightly, squeezing me with all of the strength, which was not quite enough to throttle me, but to pinch my lower body with significance. I held her back, bending down slightly to grasp her with just as much feeling as she gives me. The reciprocation of the sentiment between us is divine, and I can feel her fluttery heartbeat against my own veins, and for a moment our hearts pump as one. We're reunited not just in person but in body, sisters at the soul.

When we pull back, however, so I can get a good look at Vali's face, there's something wrong. Instead of the bright smile I expect to overwhelm me, there's tears trailing down her pudgy cheeks. Startled, I wipe them away with my thumbs, petting the bald back of her head.

"Vali, what's wrong?" I asked, kneeling so I could look her straight in the eyes. "You look upset."

"Th-th-they're gonna cut 'im down!"

First of all, I was confused by the fact that she replied in words. I expected to be answered by nothing more than scant gurgles and sobs, as before she had been kidnapped she was without the ability to speak. What confused me more, though (after all, Vali learning to speak definitely wasn't a bad thing), was the statement that came from her newly formed vocabulary.

"Who's going to be cut down, Vali? Tell me."

"Th-th-the Brain Tree!" She fell into a fit of blubbering at this point, burying her face into my side. Tears leaked down on my skin from where she was crying, and I looked up at the police officers for an explanation.

"I should've told you up front, Princess," apologized the Chia police chief, holding his hands out in a gesture of asking for forgiveness. "The brains, so to speak, of this kidnapping operation turned out to be the Brain Tree. You probably know of the slew of complaints we always get about that snarky piece of rotwood, but this was the final nail in its coffin. We sent it a letter, informing it that it was to be chopped down today. We've already got some boys down there, finishing the job."

Vali began to sob even harder into my skin, her whole body falling into deep spasms with each outcry. "They're cuttin' 'im down! They're cutting 'im down!"

"Why is she so upset?" I practically mouthed to the Chia police chief.

"It's a kind of kidnapping syndrome. They grow affectionate to their captors, whether or not they treat them badly."

"She doesn't appear to be hurt," I say, more to myself than anyone else. I give Vali a thorough look-over, and unless there's evidence of abuse underneath her clothes, the Brain Tree seems to have left Vali well in-tact, physically. I look up to the Chia police chief, formulating a plan. "You think we could go and watch them cut it down? Maybe that would give Vali some sort of closure."

The Chia and I argued over Vali's miserable head about whether or not it was appropriate for Vali to see her kidnapper one final time. Eventually, though, my wants won out over the police chief's, if only by virtue of them being louder and more concrete. (The Chia police chief seemed hesitant to reveal all of the details of the case, and I traded off his secrecy on the matter for Vali to visit the Brain Tree.) When I asked Vali whether this was what she wanted or not, she nodded hastily, nearly shaking the tears out of her eyes.

We took the trip to the Haunted Woods by foot, making sure to follow the beaten path. (Vali claimed to know her way around some of the more obscure footpaths, but, escorted by the Chia police chief, we were encouraged to take ones that were known for their safety. Still, with his shiny Ultra Bubble Gun, I suspected the Chia police chief could've afforded to go on a more direct, if dangerous, path.) Soon, we heard a voice, obviously reading from a script, booming in the distance. As we got closer, words began to form from that voice, words proclaiming a judgment's verdict and the punishment about to be executed.

We quickened our pace, and soon the owner of the voice came into view: a Kacheek, a government official by the way he dressed, standing on a stump, addressing the Brain Tree. I had never seen the Brain Tree in real life (I had still been a _true_ princess when the Haunted Woods were discovered, and had never any burning desire to visit such a spooky, slimy place), and it was even more horrible in person. Pictures didn't capture the way its orange brain glistened and throbbed periodically; the way its beady, wild eyes stared through, rather than at, me. Branches stuck out from its brain as if someone had lodged them there, and these branches were restrained, tied to the ground so the Tree, apparently, could not lash out. It looked infuriated, its eyebrows curved down in a scowl.

"He's sad, he's sad," insisted Vali, humanizing the Tree with a gender momentarily. I patted her on the head sympathetically as we took a protected place behind the Chia police chief. She was still so young, and had obviously been wrongly impressed by the Brain Tree.

The Kacheek had finished his long proclamation of the Brain Tree's ills, and stepped down from the tree stump solemnly. Simultaneously, a pair of Wockys on either side of the Brain Tree held a large saw between them, picking it up and putting it just beneath what served as the face of the Brain Tree. The Brain Tree, oddly, said nothing in its defense, watching the Wockys with its infuriated look. They brought the serrated edge against the bark of the tree and slowly began to move back and forth, as if rowing a boat through air. Instead of movement forward, though, their steady rocking made the bark on the Tree begin to give to the steel, inch-by-inch.

The Brain Tree did not scream—I imagine it had too much pride to go down like a common animal, wailing for its pathetic life. It squeezed its eyes shut, seeming to bear the pain. The sound of wood being sawed so slowly—the Brain Tree, we were informed by educated bystanders, was a hardwood tree, and had an unusually thick skin and interior—and I imagine it was agony for the Tree to see itself slowly being split in half. I felt no mercy for it, however, and rather agreed with some of the spectators who jeered at the Brain Tree's pained expression, seeming to enjoy the spectacle.

Vali seemed to be the only one in the crowd particularly stricken with grief by the experience—while I disliked seeing something undergo suffering, I reasoned that this was justified for the Brain Tree's delinquency. Yet Vali was nearly driven insane by being there, shouting and screaming and pulling at my arm anxiously, unable to be settled by conventional means.

I restrained her as best I could, with help from the Chia police chief, but she was a growing tyke—destined to be a muscular Grarrl at that--and had acquired strength over her period of absence that I hadn't accounted for. The Wockys were nearly three-quarters through the middle of the Brain Tree when Vali broke from our check, bursting out from the crowd and into the no-man's land between the police line and the Wockys, their faces emotionless and mechanical.

Up until this point, the Brain Tree had been in its own world, or so I presumed: its beady eyes were glazed over, or it looked towards the skies listlessly, as if it would alleviate its agony. It didn't see Vali lumbering in front of it at first, but its eyes refocused as soon as Vali let out a cry directly in front of it. It looked down from its trance, and the haze dissipated from its eyes—a look of almost elation came to its face, of surprised delight. It tried to hold out a branch to her, only finding itself breaking the bough due to its restraint so the branch was no longer long enough to reach Vali.

"Vali!" cried the Brain Tree, but its words were immediately muffled by a growling noise that came from behind it. The Wockys paused momentarily at this noise, and the crowd fell silent to listen. The growl grew louder then, as if someone was turning up the volume, or the source of it was getting closer. An emotion finally found the Wockys' faces—fear—and they looked about ready to abandon their posts. Sound seemed to be sucked out of the air around us as a horrible earthquake-like sensation trembled the ground—but it was no earthquake. One needed only to look behind the Brain Tree to see the commotion.

A blackness was formulating there—but it wasn't just a deep abyss. This utter absence of light had assumed a form: a form too terrible to describe. Suffice to say that it was a beast, the only differentiation from its top and bottom two red, burning eyes that hovering at the top of the pitch black cloud. It was expanding in size, consuming the Woods that lay behind the Brain Tree, erasing them from existence with an ease that chilled the bone. The crowd was petrified at its appearance, all cold with fear's sweat and yet paralyzed by it, rooted into the ground just as firmly as the Brain Tree. The prospect of disappearing just like the surrounding Woods was high in our minds, instilling more terror in us all than the specter itself.

The growl—now a howl—came to an ear-shattering climax, and, like a flock of birds formulating into attack position, the abyss streamlined itself for penetration. It surged up into the air, as if to disappear from us into the heavens, and then made an elegantly ominous arch, redirecting itself so it plunged towards us at sonic-boom speeds. The beast aimed itself towards the Brain Tree at last second, rather than the crowd, and dove into the Brain Tree's bark, seemingly, shaking the ground even harder as it did so. The Brain Tree turned momentarily black, its boughs scrambling in the air uncontrollably, as the beast plummeted into it, its eyes reeling backwards and its mouth baring its fangs against the whirlwind that surrounded it. The Wockys shrieked and retreated from the spectacle, both managing to get away without being sucked into the vortex.

The tail of the beast wiggled into the Brain Tree's cranium, and then everything suddenly dropped to silence without transition. Sound resumed around us, and the Woods continued to exist behind the Brain Tree—but the Brain Tree did not. The light that indicated life was extinguished in its eyes, and though not fully severed at the trunk, the upper portion of the Brain Tree had been destabilized. It began to tip backwards, slowly, and then fell into the brush and rocks behind it with a loud cracking noise, then fell into stillness. Stranger still was the smile that seemed to linger on the Brain Tree's lips, having not been there before the beast entered its body.

Everyone else seemed to contemplate on safety before approaching the Brain Tree's trunk and fallen body (now an elaborate log—its brain was beginning to wither and decompose in an accelerated fashion, revealing the long branches that lay underneath). Everyone, that is, but Vali, who ran to the Brain Tree's trunk amidst her sobs and threw herself dramatically on the many-ringed surface, letting her head fall into her arms.

I came next, feeling an obligation to protect Vali, even if I wasn't sure whether or not the beast had disappeared for good. I approached Vali from behind, putting a hand on her shoulder. She continued to sob, oblivious to my gesture of caring and soothing.

Around us, movement began. Empowered by Vali and me, the police began to approach to check to see that the Brain Tree really had been disposed of. The Wockys had disappeared, and the excess crowd began to follow suit, dispersing back to their own respective jobs and daily lives. Vali's world, it seemed, was the only one rocked in a negative way by the demolition of the Brain Tree, her shoulders seizing with every new sob.

Finally, she lifted her head, craning her neck around to look at my face. Neopets teemed around us, going about their government assigned duties, cleaning up the wreckage and beginning to remove the log—face dissolved back into the trunk and brai now fully evaporated—away from the site. Vali was looking at me with bleary, miserable eyes, sniffing periodically against congestion.

"It's snot _fair_, Ferny," she insisted, wiping her eyes furiously and only succeeding in making them redder. "It's snot _fair_."

I suddenly felt very old, wisened and jaded towards the world by my few years of living that I had over Ferny. I petted her gently but modestly, not imparting particular sympathy towards her pain. I knew she would have to overcome this hump, and to truly grow, she'd have to do it alone. I, too, had my own struggles, my own summits, that I still had to scale, and though we may suffer in parallel, we could never truly indulge in each other's agonies. To try and do so would only cause a stunting of each other's growth, and in the end, a robbery of our personal experiences. So I regarded her with distance and detachment, and comforted her the way a world-weary elder would.

"Welcome to Neopia, Vali. Welcome to Neopia."

I woke up to the sun, and I knew something was wrong immediately. It took me a while to reorient my thoughts, to gather all the occurrences of yesterday and apply them to what should've been happening today, but after quite contemplation in my bed, I realized that it wasn't just a feeling of foreboding I had—there really was something out of whack.

Miko, I knew, was an early riser, and whenever she and Chiitsuru were off to do something exciting, they would leave early and I would find myself to an empty house. Most of the time, this was a pleasant happening, and I relished these mornings blissfully alone. But the emptiness of the house was an omen that day. There was no coffee dripping from the kitchen, and I didn't hear Chiitsuru's shrill voice begging for Faerie Pancakes. Instead, I heard nothing.

Without bothering to get properly dressed, I rushed out of my bedroom and towards the inventory, bypassing the kitchen table on the way. I practically ripped the handle off the inventory opening it, my eyes lunging for where I had last put the guitar. That space was conspicuously empty, and with that, I began tearing through the drawer, desperate to find the guitar.

But it wasn't there. It wasn't under any of the excessive amounts of food items, and it wasn't under the ripped and decapitated toys that Chiitsuru had broken (and incidentally, made more valuable). Anxiety rushed through my body like a shot of adrenaline, and I cried out in dismay. Frantically, I turned to the kitchen table to find a note bearing Miko's handwriting. Hungrily, I picked it up and hoped for some indication that she had not done what I feared. It read in her tight, meticulous handwriting:

_Dear Max,_

_Went to the Quest booth with the Moehawk guitar. Chiitsuru's been talking about being painted Faerie for quite some time now, and I_—

I stopped reading as soon as I got into the second sentence. My hands automatically dropped the note, as if it were made of red coals. The anxiety I had felt earlier was replaced with disgust—complete revulsion towards my fibber for an owner. A fire began to rise in my gut, and I began adding the dry wood of internal monologue to that spark: she had _promised_ me I'd get the paint job! I worked my _butt_ off for those Neopoints, and all Chiitsuru ever did was sit there, watch the tube, and complain! Why did Miko always have to take _his_ side, comply to _his_ demands, when all I had was a modest, logical one? _When was it going to be my turn?_

I didn't even realize I was moving until I snapped out of fanning the flames of the rage inside of me. I was exiting the house and, for the first time in what felt like centuries, taking to wing. The eating right and walking places (compiled with the workouts I had done regularly while on vacation) had done well to get me in shape. For most Skeiths, lazy and obese, their wings become merely ornamental items signify the fact that they used to fly. But with my muscular wings and pectorals, along with a body lightened by exercise, I took off easily, heading towards that elusive castle in the clouds.

I had been to Faerieland on vacation, and as a result knew the layout of the kingdom. I doubted that Miko and Chiitsuru would still be handing over the guitar, so I centered my course straight for the Rainbow Fountain. Miko would not get away with this treachery, I vowed, the Fountain gushing multi-colored water becoming larger and larger in the distance.

The Wheel of Excitement and Faerie Petpet store passed under me. The fountain was only a few wingbeats away now, and I completed them successfully, dropping to the unstable cloud ground that held the Rainbow Fountain. It was a large Fountain, comprised of many different segments where various Pets could bathe, but only a select few owners congregated around it, a shining excitement in their eyes. The Fountain Faerie was tending to each of them individually, instructing them on how to use the baths. From what I could see, each individual tub had a faucet that could be turned to a variety of settings, turned on, and then the bath would be filled with that sort of transformative water. Then, it was all up to the Neopet to overcome their fear of water and dive in.

As it happened, the Fountain Faerie was tending to a very familiar Island Zafara and his owner at the moment. I approached from behind stealthily, listening in on the Fountain Faerie's speech in her sweet voice, so wasted on scum like Miko and Chiitsuru.

"… and then your lovely little Zafara can jump on it, and become his new color!" The Fountain Faerie beamed on them, displaying a perfect row of glittering teeth. I wondered if the Tooth Faerie herself inspected the Fountain Faerie's chompers. "And marvelous color choice on Faerie, by the way," said the Fountain Faerie with a wink. Miko said something inaudible to the Fountain Faerie that made her laugh, and then the mermaid split from them, on to help another quester.

I watched Miko and Chiitsuru fill the tub with all sorts of curse words brewing in my heart. I was tempted to dart forward and box Chiitsuru in the ears, then give Miko the guilt trip of her life—after Chiitsuru had bathed, of course.

But then, a revelation came to me. I needn't wait for them to complete their elaborate and heinous backstabbing at all. I could abort this treasonous operation by my own means, and a smile, for the first time that morning, dominated my countenance. As Chiitsuru prepared to belly-flop into the tub, I prepared my final revenge.

A burst of speed overcame my legs, and I was sprinting towards them as if to knock into them. Hearing the rustling sound of cloud behind them, Miko and Chiitsuru were momentarily distracted from the task at hand. Miko saw me, and recognized me (which was more than what I could say for Chiitsuru) and gave a shout, but she was too slow to react and stop me at my breakneck pace. This was the race I, the tortoise, had been training for, and now I was about to surpass my archrival, the hare—Chiitsuru.

I leapt. My back legs served as a perfect springboard, and I corrected for any bad aim of my launch in my wings. My body, a projectile, made a perfect arch in towards the pool. Time seemed to slow as I neared the surface of the Rainbow Fountain, watching the light purple water swirl beneath me. It reflected back my body to me in a quivering carbon copy, and I could see the wild and ineradicable smile stretched across my face. I was coming home, and I could see myself approaching, growing larger on the surface by the second.

I imagine the splash was gigantic, considering the baths were meant to be stepped into gently or jumped into by smaller Neopets—but I didn't have to feel the backlash of my impulse. I only felt the water all around me, cool and fresh, invading my nostrils and eyes but without my panic. I was submerged, and immersed in my change—I could feel my shifting features, and my skin pull back the veil of dull green to the color I was destined to be all along.

I was still for a moment, enjoying the sensation with every nerve in my body—and then I laughed, sending a fleet of bubbles up to the surface. To think, that pathetic, ugly teller Max the Skeith was bathing in the Rainbow Fountain, to emerge a butterfly from his chrysalis!

I waited for the feeling of transformation to cease—the instant was fleeting, but impressed itself upon my memory with a brilliance unequaled. Revitalized, I pushed from the bottom of the bath and into the air, exchanging the tranquil quiet of water in my ears for the chaotic and meaningful soundtrack of air. I opened up my wings and took to the air, thankful that I did not have feathered wings that would not allow such a swift escape.

I could hear Miko and Chiitsuru shouting after me—probably shooting phrases laden with curses after me—but it was easy to tune out their drone. I was above them now—both physically and metaphysically. It wasn't so much about the transformation, though it certainly contributed—who's ever seen a Faerie Skeith before? The transformation was only the top of the long mountain I had scaled from a valley of dejection to the peak of euphoria. It had begun that one night with the crash of the Ixi Potion—but now those glass shards floated on the tide with all the water under the bridge. I couldn't carry a grudge against Miko or Chiitsuru. For if they hadn't oppressed me, I would never have had the chance to revolt and find freedom.

I soared above Neopia—soared and watched humans and Neopets like cogs run about their daily lives, fretting over the insignificant. They wanted to be bigger than they were, desperately trying to scramble up the unsteady rope ladder of fame and wealth in Neopia. Perhaps if they only stopped a while, and looked to the sky, they could see a beacon of hope—of relief from the status quo—hovering right above their heads.

Because I wasn't concerned with the irrelevant anymore—the big things failed to intimidate, and the big things failed to irk. I flew above them with the effortlessness of a thermal. There was only one thing I needed to know, and keep dear to myself. Material items were worthless in the face of a new and permanent mantra:

I am Max the Skeith, and what a curious, radiant reality!


	9. Chapter 9

They chopped down the Brain Tree. I came a little bit too late, to be honest, to see the whole procession. Something inside of me was too shaken by the whole ordeal to have to witness it in person. I'd have to admit, every so often, when the Esophagor was too brutal for even me to bear, I retreated to the Brain Tree for asylum. The fact that that safe haven would no longer be guarantee disturbed me, and I slept a restless night before that fateful day. The insomnia, I think, was from the guilt, though—the guilt of knowing I had eliminated my safety—and the Brain Tree's existence—by simply being too selfish to admit that I was the brains and body of Vali's kidnapping.

Everyone seemed to be a tizzy when I arrived, purposefully late. Nobody was dressed in mourning black, and nobody carried flowers to pay their respects. I knew it wasn't a funeral—the Brain Tree wasn't technically a person, or a Neopet—but I was outraged nevertheless. Whether the selfish and frightened Neopets who had signed the Brain Tree's chopping orders realized it or not, the Brain Tree had been a respected part of the Haunted Woods, and would be missed by many (whether or not they showed sympathy by attendance). It was the fault of the intruders on our—not our, their… I always slip that up—little world, and trying to impose their standards on us—them. We—they were not the same as other Neopians were, and something in them could not accept that.

Admittedly, I brought no flowers myself, but that was primarily because I didn't want to be leaving any vicious, carnivorous flowers (the only kind the Haunted Woods boasted) at the trunk of a former friend. With an aura of anger, I demanded one Neopet to tell me why everyone was so upset (and very obviously not directly concerning the Brain Tree's unfair chopping). The Neopet tried to restrain a cringe as she answered, her delicate Kiko features unused to such brazen ugliness as a Mutant Kacheek.

"A beast went into the Brain Tree before it fell. They're concerned it might still be inside."

My throat constricted. I would've added a comment if not for that fact, and the fact that the Usul was leaving quickly, obviously having no desire to continue conversation.

I knew of the fable of the beast that lay behind the Brain Tree, but whenever I had actually asked it about the beast, the Brain Tree would brush me off with a haughty comment, or a witty one-liner that sent me back crying to the Esophagor. So I didn't quite believe that they had seen it either—perhaps it had been a group hallucination. Surely this was much more likely than what I could never have verified.

The stump seemed safe enough (they were clearing away what remained of the detached Brain Tree, and I tried not to look at it directly), as Vali was crying directly over it. A Red Quiggle comforted her from behind, and I wondered who exactly that Quiggle was to touch Vali. I shrugged it off, though, less worried about the Quiggle than by not being seen by Vali, who would more than likely try to rat me out. I waited for them to leave, hiding behind some nearby trees. As I pressed my face against their thin, sharp trunks, I wondered if they felt anything when the Brain Tree was chopped down. If the Brain Tree's demolition could inspire emotion in something sentient, why couldn't it move something unthinking, of the same species?

Vali and the Red Quiggle finally departed, and, making sure the coast was clear by looking both ways, I approached the trunk to pay respects to a lost old friend. I patted the trunk, still dewy on the inside from being freshly cut, with a sort of affection, but it was awkward standing alone, ruminating aloud with an object that could no longer talk—no longer ruminate, even. I looked around, making sure I wasn't being watched for an increased sense of discomfort.

But that was when my eyes alighted upon the flower. I had seen one before at the base of the Brain Tree, but as I had never seen any subsequent flowers, I figured that one time was a fluke. Yet there it was, growing nearly out of what remained of the Brain Tree, tenaciously hanging on. It was a stubborn little bugger to grow in soil so poor—especially with a tree's roots dominating the flower around it—but it looked just as healthy and full as any flower I had ever seen in a garden shop—perhaps even more so, as if it had been granted that much more beauty for its struggles.

Cautious and somewhat suspicious, I lifted my hand off the trunk and got onto my knees, sidling up to the flower. I hadn't been down on my knees in dirty in ages, and in some ways, it felt like returning home. A wave of calm fell over me, but I was still inquisitive about the flower and its mysterious origin. Curious, I bent forward and stroked its petals.

You would think being chopped down would be painful, don't you? You'd think it would be a slow and terrible process, that extends your life into your final moments of agony. You'd think that all your mind could focus on in your last hour—not spared any short time to blink out of consciousness—and you'd only find torture within every second you remained existing. You'd think it'd be one of the most brutal methods of demise, and utterly condemnable for those who committed it. I did too, at first. But that was before Vali arrived.

I don't know if I even saw her so much as I felt her—that warm essence that signaled her return, and just the very meaning of her continuation. There was something blissfully beautiful about her childish naiveté, that innocent state that we all pine to return to. It's that position before the world has seeped under our skin and faded our insides with its soul-sucking stonewash—when the slate is clean and we've just been given the permanent marker to write on it with, not yet understanding its implications. If we had all of our world-weary knowledge we had now back then, when we were still starting out, maybe we'd have done it differently. Or maybe we'd have fretted over that blank slate until death came to take us away from a life lived in anxiety of a horrendous mistake. So maybe it's better that way, being knowledgeless and impressionable. Maybe it's better to make stupid decisions first, for experience.

Vali embodied that, and though I knew I was corrupting her in subconscious ways, guiding her to make marks on that slate she wouldn't've otherwise, I still felt for her as my own little daughter. As a parent, I was in the position to influence those messy stroke marks, to make them in my own image until Vali had copied them too long, and strived for a different vision.

And maybe it wasn't the selflessness I assumed it was that filled me with such joy when I saw Vali. Maybe it was a selfishness—she was my idol, my ideal, the blank slate that I desired to seize back, ripping the current failure that I had in my hands to shreds. Perhaps I desired to steal it from her, not allowing her to make what she wanted of her life when she had matured—to seize the steering wheel of her life and live forever through a vessel, a body not my own.

But none of that really mattered, when I thought about it. All that really mattered, I realized, was that Vali was there, the shining model of perfection untapped, unseen, unrealized. She was pure—the fountain of youth, and even if I didn't get a second chance, I somehow knew I could start my life over again in her presence through a delicate shift in perception. I had known that all along, deep in the recesses of my brain, but now it came forth into my consciousness as I attained it, took the steering wheel of my _own_ ship and guided it away from the black sea of a post-modern reality to the bright horizon of things transcendental. She, my revelation told, was the treasure every man searches for, as immaculate and rare as that fleeting flower.

So when I looked upwards and saw the beast, its essence was no longer so black and bleak, full of emptiness and terror. A life well lived doesn't fear Death—it only fears losing grasp of that which makes it full, and that thing the soul clings onto like a zebra mussel to the hull of a ship sailing towards paradise. That thing, once found, is hard to lose, as it lies within, intangible.

Death looked like an angel in those moments, descending upon me like a feather caught by the wind. It smiled at me with a glorious face, carved from immortal material. I smiled back at it, and it held forth its hand, welcoming me to its kingdom. It mouthed mysterious words to me, and touched my highest branch—a jolt of electricity ran through me, an electricity that tingled like soda bubbles against the nose. I shuddered, and looked up to Death, as if for explanation why it had not taken me immediately. Patiently, it motioned towards the ground.

There at my trunk bloomed my epitaph, a Neopian beauty of flawless grandeur.

I could feel my body fall backwards, but I was no longer there. I found myself dispersing among the trees, spreading like steam jettisoned from an exhaust pipe, liberated back to the ghostly, gorgeous world. For a moment, I tried to grasp the sensation to form it into words, and I struggled, groaning as I felt momentary pain strike through my expanding body as it tried to condense for that final task. But then I let it go. It was pointless, and I was needless.

It drifted through me briefly, and then I was perfect.

I am the Brain Tree, and this is my death.

My meaningful, dazzling death.


End file.
